


Xenophobia

by pixymisa, selecasharp



Series: Xenophobia [1]
Category: Alien (1979), Supernatural
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Androids, Betrayal, Big Brother Dean, Brother Feels, Brothers, Cats, Character Death, Dean in Space, Gen, Gen Work, IN SPACE!, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Permanent Injury, SPN Cinema Genre Challenge, Space Opera, Spaceships, Violence, Weird Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixymisa/pseuds/pixymisa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selecasharp/pseuds/selecasharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In space, no one can hear you scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Supernatural [Reverse Big Bang](http://spn-cinema.livejournal.com/) on Livejournal and crossposted to [LJ](http://teashopmuses.livejournal.com/69762.html). We collaborated with [lightthesparks](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/), who did some [amazing art](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/94878.html).
> 
> Also, it's not necessary to have seen the movie (but if you haven't seen it, check it out!).

 

**PROLOGUE**  


Ellen is only drinking the very first sip of her cup of coffee when the alarm goes off. It isn't like the coffee is any good, but she's still annoyed by the interruption. "Ash, what is that?" she asks. It's not an alert she's familiar with, and the code that scrawls across her screen is pure gibberish. She can feel Jo looking over her shoulder, hovering there when she should be minding her own terminal.

“It’s a ship,” Jo says, but even as she says it, the terminal outlines the object and starts running specs on the silhouette.

“Not a ship,” Ellen corrects. “It’s an escape shuttle. The _Roadhouse_ must have picked up the distress beacon.” But that doesn’t explain the strange alert or the unfamiliar readings that spill across her screen. “Ash, get me some answers.”

“Yeah, I don’t have answers ye—” Ash cuts himself off mid-sentence. When she looks over at him, his pale face is illuminated by the scrolling text on his own computer screen, his jaw slack, mouth hanging open. “Dude,” he says, sounding stunned.

“Ash,” she repeats, her patience worn thin.

“Lifeforms,” Ash replies. “I’m reading two of them. But only one of them is human.”

Of course. There’s a protocol for this, hard-wired into the computer, written into their contracts. Ellen shoves her coffee away, gets to her feet. “Let’s bring it on board, see what we have.”

 

**PART ONE**  


Waking up from cryo-sleep was always a pain in the ass. By the time Dean managed to pry his eyes open, Cas was perched on the end of his bed like a weird little owl. Most of the rest of the crew were still in their pods, but the captain had at least managed to peel off his electrodes. Dean couldn’t get his fingers to work the way he liked, couldn’t get his thoughts in line.

“You okay, baby brother?” he called out, the first coherent thing anyone had managed to say.

“Nngh,” was Sam’s response. Kid was still a newbie, hadn’t had as much experience with cryo-sleep as the rest of them, but he was fighting against the grogginess like a pro.

Dean wasn’t all that steady on his feet, but he could stay upright if he kept moving. He crossed around to the other side of the bank of pods, looked down at his brother and watched his eyes flutter open. “C’mon,” he said, and held out a hand. “Walk it off. It gets easier the more you move around.”

Sam clumsily batted Dean’s hand away. “I got it,” he mumbled, then rolled over to grip the side of the pod. Dean helped him swing his legs over the side, gave him a push behind his shoulder when it looked like Sam wasn’t going to make it into a sitting position.

“Dean, leave the kid.” The captain, who had been sounding more and more annoyed throughout the job. “He’s not going to learn how to manage with big brother hovering over him all the time.”

Sam swatted at his hands again, with more coordination and strength this time. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll catch up.”

Dean nodded, and turned to face the captain. “All right, Rufus, whose turn is it to make breakfast?”

The captain just grinned. “Yours.”

But in the end it was Kubrick who wound up with the duty. Something about an agreement between him and Gordon, and about the appallingly bad food they’d been served the last time they’d made the mistake of assuming that Bela and Pamela could cook.

“Why don’t the women on this ship know how to cook?” Kubrick asked.

“Why don’t you know how to reroute the circuits on the _Bellerophon_ ’s electrical systems?” Bela replied.

Pamela added, “We have more important things on our minds, like keeping your skinny ass alive.”

“Speaking of your skinny ass,” Bela said. “The two of us ladies were thinking—”

“Now there’s a dangerous prospect,” Gordon cut in.

“—And we decided that we deserve a full cut of the cargo.”

“Take it up with the big bosses,” the captain said.

Bela smiled, all teeth and sharp edges. “Or the boss’s kids?”

They looked over at Sam, who still looked a little green around the gills, but was making his way through a few pieces of toast. He looked up at Bela’s comment, looked back and forth between her and Pamela. “Take it up with Dean,” he said, and then took another savage bite out of his toast. “He’s Dad’s golden boy. I didn’t even want to be out here.”

“This,” Dean joked, “is why I always got the extra cookie.”

Sam made a face so epically bitchy that the entire crew burst out laughing. It was a good breakfast, the kind they’d been saving for the end of the job, with real eggs and real coffee and, thank god, real bacon. But when Kubrick and Gordon and Dean and the captain made their way to the bridge, it quickly became clear that the job wasn’t quite over yet.

“Where’s Earth?” Kubrick asked, frowning over his terminal.

“This isn’t our system,” Dean replied. The star chart on his own terminal was unfamiliar. Not only was it not their system, but he had no damn clue what system they were in. “Kubrick, pull it together. Where the hell are we?”

“Not in our system,” Kubrick replied. He muttered something under his breath, something that could have been cursing or a prayer. “The computer can’t identify any background stars. Wherever we are, it’s way out there.”

“Great,” the captain said. He turned to Gordon. “Any clue why we’re here?”

Gordon just shrugged. “I got nothing, Rufus.”

The captain sighed and got to his feet. “I’ll get on the horn, see what’s up. We definitely changed course while we were in cryo-sleep. There has to be some reason why. Kubrick, figure out where we are.”

“Not in our system!” he yelled.

But as useless as he sometimes seemed, it was Kubrick who figured out that they were on a rendezvous encounter with a small, rocky moon. A moon with an atmosphere and an active message beacon on it, though the beacon was like nothing Dean had ever seen before.

Even before the captain returned from his visit to the main computer hub, Dean had a sneaking suspicion he knew what was going on.

“The _Bellerophon_ intercepted a transmission of unknown origin,” the captain explained to everyone. “The computer is programmed to reroute the ship toward the source and wake us on arrival.”

“And when we find whatever it is,” Bela asked, eyebrow raised, “are we getting a full cut of that, too?”

The captain didn’t reply to that. Instead, he said, “I want everyone on alert, here. We don’t know what we’re walking in on, so for the love of God, be professional.”

Both Sam and Dean were quiet during the meeting, but once the captain dismissed them all, Sam sidled up to Dean. “You think it’s...?” Sam trailed off.

Dean nodded. “This sounds like Dad’s sort of thing. Middle of nowhere, unidentified signal?”

“Exactly the thing I went to school to avoid.”

Yeah, the bitterness was still there, even after years away from the family business. Dean turned to Sam, looked him straight in the eye. “When we land,” he said. “I want you out there.”

“Castiel’s the science officer,” Sam protested. “I’m just an intern.”

“Yeah, well, Cas is a weirdo. I want you out there, because I can’t go myself. At least you’ll know what to look for.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes sir.”

And that was it.

Dean spent the next few hours on the bridge, trying to decipher the beacon and listening to Kubrick bitch and moan about their landing site. The moon was the third major satellite out from a mid-sized gas giant, far enough from its parent that the _Bellerophon_ didn’t have to deal with the sizable ring system at all. It also had its own atmosphere, though what was there was thin, a soupy mess of nitrogen, argon, neon, and some trace elements. Zero humidity, zero organics, volcanic base, according to Cas.

“Volcanic—” Kubrick cut himself off. “Shit’s going to be hard enough to land on as it is.”

The captain snapped on the comm to the engine room. “Ladies, we’re in for a rough ride.”

“ _Rough costs extra_ ,” Bela responded. “ _Tell Kubrick to take it easy, or we’re going to have an electrical fire down here._ ”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

They hit the atmosphere at a sharp angle, skipped off it like a flat stone off water, shaking everything around them. Kubrick cussed, and then they hit it again. Dean had a mug on his console that went flying, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The winds were high, even at the edge of space, and they only got worse as they went down.

“Fifteen kilometers and descending,” Kubrick said. “Twelve... ten... eight and slowing.”

The ship rocked, hard, and Dean fought to keep himself in his seat. His teeth were rattling so hard it was a wonder he still had them.

“Five kilometers... three... two... one kilometer.”

“Lock tractor beams,” the captain said.

“Locked,” Gordon answered.

“Kill drive engines.”

The whine of the engines cut out, leaving them with just the howl of the wind as it beat on the ship.

“Nine hundred meters and dropping,” Kubrick said. “Eight hundred. Seven.”

They came in sharp, passed the dawn line, and Kubrick started cussing again. “Exterior lights on,” Gordon called out. “Kubrick, landing struts are down.”

They all felt it when they hit. The shuddering started low in the belly of _Bellerophon_ , worked its way up, knocked them all out of their seats. At the same time, everything went completely dark, the terminals, the lights, everything. And then there were sparks flying, and the bridge was lit up with fire. Dean jumped to his feet, grabbed the extinguisher from under his terminal, pulled the pin free and started spraying.

“Shit!” Kubrick yelled. “Secondary generator should be kicking in.”

“Where is it?” Gordon called.

The lights remained out, but at least Dean got the worst of the flames beaten back. He was sweating, felt grimy and gross and a little pissed off. He headed back to his terminal, hit the comm button and demanded, “What the hell happened down there?”

“ _Electrical fire_ ,” Bela replied.

“ _Big one_ ,” Pamela added. “ _Dean, do us a favor and kick Kubrick’s skinny ass._ ”

The captain came up behind him, leaned into the comm, and shouted, “Enough about Kubrick’s ass. Give me a status report, you two. Did the hull breach?”

“ _Intakes are clogged, boss. We burned out an entire cell._ ”

After another moment, the backup lights came on. Dean was back in his seat, scanning his terminal for bad news. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Rufus, we still have pressure.”

The captain rocked back on his feet, straightened up, and breathed out a long breath. “All right, boys and girls,” he said. “We’re here.”

“Now what?” Dean asked.

The captain leveled a dark glare in his direction. “You’re not a tech head like the ladies, but at least you know your hands from your ass when it comes to this sort of thing. Get down to the engine room, help get us functional again.” He turned to Gordon, motioned to the viewscreen. “Hit it.”

The screen flickered for a moment and then died.

Dean hit his comm again. “Ladies, your dreams have come true. I’m coming down to give you a hand.” He turned off the comm before he could hear their snarky reply. He’d be hearing it in person soon enough.

Down below was more of a mess than the bridge, and as soon as he got within earshot of Pamela, she started going off on every little detail that had gotten fucked up.

“—and we need to reroute a couple of these ducts. Can't really fix them without a whole dry dock. We also lost a cell, some fragments caked up and blew the whole system. We've got to clean it all out and repressurize.”

“But at least our dreams came true,” Bela added sarcastically, and swung her wrench around to point at him.

Dean scrubbed one hand across his face. “Get started on panel four. I’ll call Rufus with the news. How long until we’re functional?”

Pamela shrugged. “Fifteen to twenty hours.”

“Keep on it,” he said. “I’ll get started on the auxiliaries.”

*****

This was exactly the sort of thing Sam had wanted to get away from. But there he was, suiting up with the captain and Gordon and Kubrick, getting ready to go out onto the surface of the planetoid in order to chase down a possible signal of alien origin. Dad would have been thrilled, Sam thought sourly as he carefully snapped his gloves into place. He cursed the university’s requirement that he do a real-time internship, and whatever cosmic machinations had gotten him assigned to do it on the same ship his brother served on, the same ship that had just come across the first potential alien signal in over twenty years. Even trying to leave Dad and his obsession behind had still landed him smack in the middle of it. 

But there was nothing to do but suit up and do it. The lights had come back on a few minutes ago, and the protocol was very clear. Sam could recite it from memory, as Dad had drilled it into their heads since before he could remember. Besides, Dean had asked him to go, and Sam couldn’t help but be curious, though not for the same reason Dad would have been. If it really was an alien signal out there, then Sam wanted to study it, learn everything he could about it. It was why he’d gone to university instead of spending the rest of his life training for something that might never happen. 

But it was happening now.

“The origin of the signal is three thousand meters to the left of the ship,” Castiel intoned, checking the signal readout. 

The captain nodded. “Close enough to walk.”

“Do we really have to do this?” Kubrick bitched. “We're a commercial ship, not some rescue team. This kind of shit’s not in our contract.”

Gordon answered before the captain could. “Yeah, it is. We're obligated under Section B2, you know that. Transmissions received in non-commercial lanes—”

“I know, I know,” Kubrick interrupted. “Just, seems a big coincidence.” He cut his gaze over at Sam. _With both of the boss’s kids here,_ he didn’t have to add. It was clear. Sam didn’t bother answering. Kubrick would never believe that Sam hadn’t wanted to be here either, and anyway, he’d learned the hard way that most of the time with Kubrick, it was better not to engage.

“Look, we're going in, that's it.” The captain turned to Sam. “You sure you want to come, kid? We’re sending a feed back to the science station, so you’d see what’s going on.”

Sam shook his head. “All due respect, sir, I’d like to come, if Castiel approves.”

“I do,” Castiel said. 

“Your choice,” the captain said amiably. “Everyone, grab a helmet and a weapon. But no wild shots, you hear me? No one touches the weapons without my go ahead.” The last part was definitely directed at Kubrick. Kubrick’s lip lifted in a sneer, but he didn’t actually say anything. Thank god for small favors, Sam thought.

The four of them picked up helmets and moved into the lock. A moment later the doors hissed shut, and the captain signaled for them to put on their helmets. Sam fit his into place before any of the others. He hadn’t been on nearly as many missions as any of them, but he’d been practicing this for years.

Once they were all covered, the captain’s voice crackled over the helmet’s communicator. “Sending. Can you hear me?”

“Receiving,” Gordon replied. Kubrick and Sam both echoed him. “What about you, Castiel?”

“Receiving,” Castiel’s voice said. “Opening lock doors now.”

The hatch behind them hissed open, and Sam got his first glimpse of the alien planetoid’s surface. It wasn’t much to look at it, he thought as he followed the others down the gangway. The wind was howling so loudly he could hear it through the helmet, and it was hard to see much of anything. Clouds of dust and gases swirled around them, buffeting them hard enough that Sam had to lean into the winds a little to stay upright. He could only imagine what the others were going through. 

The ground itself was solid, at least, a volcanic lava flow that had hardened long ago. “Which way?” Gordon asked.

Kubrick consulted the tablet in his hand, then pointed. “That way.” For all his complaining, Sam knew he was an excellent navigator. He would have to be, to have anyone willing to work with him.

“You lead,” the captain said, and Kubrick moved in front of them, slowly picking his way across the landscape. Like most lava flows Sam had seen, it hadn’t solidified flat; it was full of dips and furrows that threatened to trip them with every step.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Kubrick muttered. “Castiel, you getting anything? What the fuck are we looking for?”

“ _Good contact on my end_ ,” Castiel replied. “ _Keep on course._ ”

They kept walking. Sam could barely make out the others, let alone the actual planetoid, but he did see it when the system’s sun dawned over the horizon. It didn’t make much of a difference, but at least there was some ambient light. Sam could make out a little more of the landscape now, could see towering rocks and flows on either side of them. It was a miracle they’d landed at all, he thought. “It’s day,” he said, more to himself than the others. He couldn't help but feel a slight sense of awe. 

“Still can't see more than three meters in any direction,” Kubrick griped.

“Quit bitching,” Gordon snapped.

“Why should I — hey, it stopped.” Kubrick halted, shaking the tablet in his hand. “The signal’s just gone.”

The captain let out a breath. “Maybe we passed it?”

“I don’t think so,” Gordon said. “It hasn’t been far enough.”

“ _It’s still in front of you,_ ” Castiel’s voice cut in. “ _Kubrick, recalibrate the sensor._ ”

Sam looked away again, turning slowly on the spot. The rocks next to them towered so high that they were blocking the nascent light of dawn, and the winds were still flinging debris through the air, making it hard to see much, but he thought he could make out something just beyond the rocks. He took a few tentative steps in front of the others, peering through the gloom. “Hey,” he said. “There’s something up there.”

“What have you got, Sam?” the captain asked, just as Kubrick hissed out an exclamation of victory and pointed ahead. 

“I don’t know,” Sam said, waiting for the others to catch up. “But it doesn’t look like volcanic flow. It’s too regular.”

“Let’s go,” the captain said, and the four of them set off again, slowly rounding around the rocks. Sam could hear the signal now too, ticking from the tablet in Kubrick’s hand. It was getting faster and louder with every step. They could all see the something ahead of them now, though only in glimpses whenever the wind would abate for a second. Whatever it was, it was huge, that much Sam could tell. “Are you getting this, Castiel?” the captain asked. “Gordon, you’ve got the visual feed going, right?”

“ _I have a visual_ ,” Castiel confirmed.

They finally made it to the lee of the rocks, and the wind slowed a fraction, just enough for them to finally see what it was they had been walking toward.

“Jesus Christ,” Gordon breathed. Kubrick muttered something Sam didn’t hear. He was too busy staring up at what was in front of them. It looked almost like a ship, he thought, but not like any of the ships Dad had ever commissioned, or any of the ones he’d been forced to memorize with Dean when they were younger. It also looked fused to the ground, as if it had been built there, or maybe had been formed of the rock itself. But it wasn’t natural, that much was clear. It was huge, maybe as big as _Bellerophon_ itself, and composed of two rounded prongs that thrust up from the rippling ground, the surface smooth and perfect. It was, Sam thought, of alien origin. An actual alien ship, or building.

_Dad would give anything to see this._

“Castiel,” the captain said finally. “What the hell is that?”

“ _It appears to be a spaceship of some sort,_ ” Castiel replied. “ _Origin unknown. There is no match in the computer’s database._ ”

“Whatever the transmission is, it's coming from inside that thing,” Kubrick said, stabbing a gloved finger at the tablet. 

Gordon pushed in front of them. “I’ll go in,” he said. “Take a look around. You can stay behind if you want.”

“Hang on a damn moment, Gordon,” the captain snapped. “Castiel, you getting any readings from that? It looks dead on our end.”

“ _Negative,_ ” Castiel replied. “ _I can’t get a proper reading. The energy output is overriding the sensors._ ”

“Rufus?” Gordon pressed. “Come on, Captain, we need to look into this.”

The captain hesitated a moment, then nodded. “All right, we’ll go in. Approach the base.”

They began walking again, even more slowly this time. Sam’s eyes roved over the structure, trying to analyze it. The base was flat against the rocky surface, but he thought he could make out a recess in the area where the two prongs were joined. “I think that might be an entrance,” he said, pointing.

It was, as they saw when they got closer. Gordon took the lead, striding in with quick steps, the captain and Sam on his heels. Kubrick hung back, still muttering, but he finally followed them in. 

The inside chamber was almost completely empty, with a high domed ceiling and shadowy lattices covering the walls. Sam staggered after a few steps, the lack of wind actually throwing him off balance. The air was still filled with dust, but it drifted slowly in lazy spirals, and light was filtering down from somewhere above. Sam tipped his helmet back as far as he could, trying to see if there was structural damage somewhere, or if there were built-in ports for light, but the dome of the ceiling was too high for him to see.

There was something on the ground, he realized, off to the left, against the wall. He moved toward it, clouds of dust rising around his boots. At first he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing; it looked like a shell, almost, but huge, bigger than he was, with long coils of something spiraling around it. Then he realized. “Captain!” he called

“What is it, Sam?”

“It’s—” He didn’t have the words. “Come look for yourself.” 

It was an alien, an actual xenomorphic lifeform, or what was left of one, he was pretty sure. It resembled the carapace of insects, but much larger, with an anatomical structure of four limbs, almost like a human’s, though the resemblance ended there. What he thought was the head was grossly elongated, almost cylindrical, and the longer coils looked as if they were a tail or tentacles of some kind. Sam knelt, wanting to touch it, but he knew better. The exoskeleton, if that’s what it was, looked fragile, and utterly alien. _Is this why Dad started the company?_ he thought, staring at it. The face, if there was one, had long since collapsed or eroded. _Is this what he’s been looking for all these years?_

_Is this, or something like it, what killed Mom?_

“Well, shit,” the captain said behind him. “Gordon, look at this.”

“I am,” Gordon said. “Looks dead, whatever it is. You think it’s a real alien, Sam? You’re the expert on that kind of thing.”

Sam ignored the jab. His father’s obsession with finding alien life wasn’t much of a secret. “I think so. Castiel, are you getting this?” 

There was no response.

“It’s a fuckin’ alien, that’s what it is,” Kubrick seethed. “I signed up for a routine mining mission, not first contact! I knew this was a bad idea, I knew—”

“Shut up, Kubrick,” Gordon snapped. “Castiel? You reading?”

Castiel’s voice came through a burst of static. “ _— reading — can — back_?”

The captain shook his head. “Bring it back, you think?” he said to Sam.

“Why the hell would we want to?” Kubrick muttered.

Sam reached out and touched one of the coils. The crack was loud enough to hear through the helmet, and he hastily drew his hand back as part of the carapace collapsed into dust. “Negative,” he said. “At least not all of it. I should be able to take a sample, but it’s long dead, so I’m not sure how much we’ll be able to get from it. Besides, it’s too fragile to keep its structural integrity.” He glanced at Gordon. “We should make sure to get shots from all angles before we go, though.”

“There might be more anyway,” Gordon said. “ _Something_ set off that signal.”

“Yeah,” Kubrick said. He jerked a thumb at the wall behind the remains. “That.”

Sam looked up. He’d been too distracted to notice before, but now that Kubrick had pointed it out, he could see a faint glow coming from a panel, and a small revolving metal antenna making a slow circuit over it. “Is that what’s giving off the signal?” he asked Kubrick, who nodded.

“Thing might have set it off and then died in the crash,” Gordon mused, looking up from his slow circuit around the exoskeleton. Taking shots as requested, Sam presumed. “Could’ve been sending out a signal for decades. Captain? Where are you?”

“There’s an opening in the floor, to the right,” the captain responded, and Sam looked over to see a small fissure running through the middle of the floor, with blackness yawning beyond its edges. Pushing himself back to his feet, he approached it slowly. The captain was already standing near one of the sides, but Sam didn’t want to find out the hard way that the floor was unstable.

Once there, he carefully knelt next to it, unclipping a light from his belt and shining it down into the darkness. The others crowded around him, peering down, but the light wasn’t strong enough to penetrate more than a few meters. “It just goes down,” he said, mostly for Castiel’s benefit, assuming he was listening. He was supposed to be acting as his intern, after all. “Totally smooth walls. I can't see the bottom, the light won't reach.” He looked up at the captain. “What do you think?”

“We look below,” the captain replied. He gestured at Gordon. “Now’s your big chance.”

Gordon grinned fiercely, unclipping a cable from his belt. Sam took it from him and anchored it to the ground with a support hook. He was almost disappointed, that Gordon was going and not him. But Gordon was the executive officer and the one running the visual feed to the science station, and Sam was just an intern. It didn’t matter who his father was, not here and now. At least he would be able to study the footage Gordon would be sending back to Castiel, he told himself, intrigued despite himself. 

“Don't unhook yourself from the cable,” the captain warned as Gordon slowly eased himself into the fissure. “Be out in less than ten minutes.”

“Aye aye,” Gordon said.

“This is a stupid shit idea,” Kubrick complained as Sam and the captain took turns feeding out the line to lower Gordon. “We can’t even see what’s down there.”

The captain ignored him. “Gordon, you read me?” 

“I read,” Gordon replied. A light flickered on a couple meters below, illuminating more of the shaft and Gordon, but nothing much else. Gordon braced his legs on the walls and started making his way down, shining his light below him. He vanished from sight after a few minutes. Sam peered down into the blackness, wondering what Gordon was seeing, if anything.

“Report?” the captain asked.

“It’s hotter down here,” came Gordon’s response after a moment. “I haven’t reached bottom yet, but the depth gauge says I’m under ground level. This is some kind of underground cavern.” There was a pause, and then Gordon said, breathing hard, “I reached bottom. It’s fucking sweltering in here, Captain. No oxygen either.”

“You see anything?” Sam asked before the captain could.

“Yeah,” Gordon replied after a long minute. “It’s weird.”

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s something all over the walls. Like, just sticking out. I think it’s some kind of storage area. The place is full of these sealed leathery things.” There was a pause. “They’re soft to the touch. Might be organic. Sam, you want me to see if I can figure out what’s in them?”

“Yes, but be careful,” the captain answered for Sam. “Don’t open them, Gordon, just look.”

They waited for Gordon’s answer. “I can’t get them to... Wait, something’s happening. It’s turning clear. I can see — _holy shit_!”

There was a burst of static, followed by the sound of Gordon shouting something. Then all communication cut off. 

*****

The signal repeated itself every thirty-two seconds, Dean mused. It came from deep in the belly of the structure, not from either of the arrays towards the end of it. Like whatever had sent the beacon wasn’t on what they would think of as a bridge or command deck. 

“I can’t quite make it out,” Dean said, opening a comm to Cas. Impala was in his lap, rumbling happily as Dean, thankfully sneeze-free, petted her. Normally Imp wasn’t too big on him, or anyone really, except for Sam. She was officially the ship’s cat, but in actuality she had pretty much been Sam’s ever since he’d joined the crew. “I ran it through ECIU, but the computer can’t identify any linguistic structure.”

“ _It’s not a language_ ,” Cas said.

“Whatever it is,” Dean said, “it’s urgent. Almost like, I don’t know, like a warning.”

“ _Or a cry for help_.”

It hit him then, that this felt kind of familiar, that maybe he’d seen something like this before, a long time ago. “No,” Dean replied. “I don’t think so. There’s not enough power behind the broadcast. It barely makes it out of the system, Cas, we only picked it up because we were close enough for our long-range scanners to pick up that there was an anomaly.” _Sammy_ , he thought, and got to his feet. Imp jumped down as soon as he moved and made an unhappy noise.

“ _You can’t go after them,_ ” Cas said, calm and unruffled. “ _I know you’re concerned about your brother, but we can’t spare the manpower right now. They’ll know soon enough, if it is indeed a warning._ ”

Dean stood there for a minute, staring at his screen and the image of Cas standing there. Screw him, he thought, and reached for his comm. “Rufus? Rufus, do you read me?”

Static crackled thickly, and then Dean could hear the captain yelling in the distance.

“Sammy?”

“ _It got him!_ ” Sam’s voice, clear but worried. “ _The captain_ —!”

“Something got Rufus?” Dean demanded.

“ _No, the captain went after him!_ ”

Gordon, then? Or maybe Kubrick? Stupid sons of bitches, both of them. “Sammy, get back to the ship, right now.”

But Sam wasn’t listening to him anymore. Dean could hear voices through the static, maybe an argument, maybe a call for help. He threw himself back down in his chair, feeling helpless.

“ _Dean, do you have them on your monitor_?” Cas asked.

Dean shook his head. “No, there’s too much interference. Someone may be hurt, though. The signal wasn’t clear enough to tell what’s going on down there.”

Cas was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “ _Either way, we’ll know soon._ ”

The storm raged outside, battering the ship, causing the landing struts to whine and groan under them. There was no way the signal was getting through any of that mess. Even better, the rotation of the rocky moon was fast enough that night was falling again, after only a couple hours of pale day. The floodlights came on in a futile attempt to light up their murky surroundings. Dean alternated between straining his ears through the static and looking at the beacon.

When he took a look at the outside monitors, though, his heart leapt up into his throat. Four dark figures, heading toward the ship. “Cas, I see them! They’re back!”

“ _I’ll meet them at the airlock._ ”

But as Dean watched the figures move, he realized something was wrong. Only three of the figures were moving under their own power. The fourth, Gordon, Dean guessed from the looks of him, was being dragged behind the others.

“ _Let us in,_ ” came the captain’s voice, strong and clear but thin with worry. “ _Gordon needs medical attention, now!_ ”

“What happened down there?” Dean demanded. His hand hovered over the door control, waiting.

“ _He has something attached to his face, something — I ain’t never seen anything like it. It cracked his helmet, but he’s still alive. For now._ ”

“What is it?” Dean demanded. “Protocol says—”

Kubrick’s voice, “ _Jesus Christ, you little shit, let us in!_ ”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam now, pleading. “ _It’s an organism. I know, Dean, I know the protocol as well as you do. But if you don’t let us in, he’s going to die._ ”

An organism. So it was Dad’s doing all along. But Dad never counted on Sam being the one stuck outside in the cold. “We already broke every quarantine rule on the books,” he said, but he was wavering. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to let them in. It went against everything Dad had ever drilled into him, but he had to. For Sam.

“ _Opening inner hatch,_ ” Cas said.

Dean ran for the airlock. By the time he got there, Sam and the others had stripped down out of their pressure suits and were moving Gordon towards the infirmary. The organism on his face was like nothing Dean had ever seen before, like the unholy love-child of a crab and a spider, with some added tentacles. He gaped at it, watched Cas and the captain haul Gordon away, the captain’s face closed off, Cas’s unreadable as always.

“You shit!”

Kubrick came up on him suddenly, gave him a shove. Dean whirled on him, landed a punch across his mouth. “Don’t start with me,” Dean snapped.

“You’d really leave us out there to die?” he continued on, heedless of the blow, even though blood was trickling from his lip. “Captain Turner and your baby brother, you’re so heartless as to lock them out?”

“Shut up,” Dean said. He wanted to say more, to say something to make the asshole shut his mouth for once, but Sam stepped between them before he found the words.

“It’s done,” Sam said. “Kubrick, calm down. Dean was just following protocol.”

Kubrick turned on him. “And what do you know, Sammy boy? You’re not even a real crew member here. The only reason you’re on this ship is because your daddy wanted big brother to watch over you.”

“Enough!” Dean snarled. “Fuck you, Kubrick, get your ass to the bridge and get us off this miserable rock.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Kubrick sneered. He snapped off a salute, then turned on his heel and left.

And then Dean was alone with his brother. Sam didn’t wait for him to say anything, just headed down the corridor after the captain and Cas.

“Sammy!” Dean called, and went after him. Sam didn’t stop or slow down, so he had to catch him by the arm. “Sammy, come on.”

“It’s Sam,” he said.

“Sam,” Dean said. Whatever, it didn’t matter what he called his little brother, it only mattered that he said what he needed to say. “I was going to let you in, I swear.”

Sam shrugged out of his grip. “I have work to do,” he said. “We can talk about this later, when we get that thing off Gordon’s face.” And then, like Kubrick, he walked away.

Dean just stood there for a while, listening to his pulse roaring in his ears. He’d fucked something up, maybe even everything. But the job was fucked up, and Gordon had an alien lifeform attached to his face, and they were too far out from civilization for help to just wander past. And, Dean thought, maybe that creature was the reason why they were there, why whatever it was had sent off the beacon that brought them to the goddamned moon in the first place.

Slowly, he made his way down the corridor to the infirmary. The door was sealed shut, but Dean could see enough through the observation window. They had Gordon laid out on an exam table, still in the pressure suit, Sam and Cas and the captain all crowded around and staring down at him. From his angle, Dean could see now that the thing attached to his face had melted its way through his helmet.

“How is he still alive?” Dean asked.

In the infirmary, the captain lifted his head, turned Dean’s way to stare at him. “Don’t know,” he replied, his voice staticky over the inter-room comm. “There was a chasm, he volunteered to go down into it, and woke that thing up, the damned fool. When we hauled his ass back out, it was there.”

“His blood is thoroughly oxygenated,” Cas said. “Vitals appear steady. I think we’re ready to cut the helmet away. Sam?”

Sam nodded and reached for a laser cutter. Dean couldn’t see it as it happened, but he could see the red glow of the cutter and the tight line of his brother’s shoulders, could hear the soft murmur of someone — Cas or the captain — giving directions. He could definitely hear the crack when they peeled the helmet away.

“My god,” the captain breathed.

Dean banged his hand on the observation window. “What is it?” he demanded. “Talk to me.”

Sam answered, his voice a strange mixture of fascination and surprise. “It’s covering his nose and mouth completely. It’s fixed in place, and I don’t think we’re going to get it off without ripping his face off at the same time.”

“Sam,” the captain said, “let the machine work on him.”

They stepped back, and Dean watched Cas punch a button on his console. A hole opened up in the wall, and the exam table and Gordon were sucked into it. When the computer put up the image on Cas’s monitor, even Dean could see from his vantage point that there was something wrong. “Does it — what does it have shoved down his throat?”

“I don’t know,” Cas returned. “Fascinating. The appendage runs the full length of his esophagus. It must be how it’s feeding him oxygen.”

“Cut it off,” the captain snapped. “Kill it if you have to.”

“Captain,” Sam said, his voice pleading.

“I will not,” Cas replied. “At the moment this creature is keeping him alive. If we remove it, we might terminate him.”

“I’ll do it,” the captain said. “I’ll take full responsibility, in case something happens. Sam, get me gloves. Castiel, hand me the knife.”

Cas hit the button on his console again, and the exam table slid back out of the wall. They crowded around Gordon again, close enough that Dean couldn’t make out what they were doing. But he heard the sizzle, like hot metal on flesh, and saw them all jump back from Gordon like they’d been burned.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

Cas bolted toward him and, when the infirmary doors opened, darted past him. Dean turned and ran after him. Cas turned suddenly at a maintenance shaft, scurried down the ladder to the lower level, Dean hot on his heels. Cas continued on, winding around until they were below the infirmary.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“It bled,” Cas said simply.

The support above them started to hiss and sizzle, and Dean looked up in shock. The metal plating was melting away, dripping onto the floor below. Dean jumped out of the way, and watched the fluid eat away at that, too.

“It’s going through another deck,” Cas said, and then he was off again. Dean tore after him, down another two decks, until whatever that shit was stopped tearing up the _Bellerophon_. “It stopped penetrating,” Cas said, as if nothing more interesting than a minor hiccup had happened. “Potent, obviously, but only for a short period of time.”

“What was that?” Dean asked, getting frustrated with the lack of answers.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, except for certain types of molecular acids,” he replied.

“And that — that’s what that thing _bleeds_?”

As if on cue, Pamela came up behind them, craned her neck to peer at the hole. “I suppose you chuckleheads want that fixed, too,” she said dryly.

Dean didn’t rise to her bait. “Be careful,” he warned her. “That shit ate through three levels.” He turned back to Cas. “Is Gordon okay? Any of that get on him?”

Cas shook his head no. “I don’t think we can remove the lifeform safely. It has a very effective defense mechanism.”

Great. “And you brought it on board,” Dean pointed out. 

“I was following a direct order.”

“When the captain and executive officer are off the ship, I’m in charge.”

Cas tilted his head to one side, peering at him like _he_ was the creature that needed to be studied. “You were going to let them in, Dean. There was no possibility of you leaving Sam out there. I just did it for you.”

He wasn’t wrong. And Dean didn’t know if it was that, knowing that he would have risked everyone’s life for the sake of his brother, or if it was that Cas had knowingly taken the responsibility out of his hands, that pissed him off more. He just stared at Cas for a long while, and then he left, headed back up to the infirmary.

The captain was standing just outside of it, face gaunt and weary. “Dean,” he started, but Dean cut him off.

“Who is Castiel?” he asked.

The captain straightened up, looked Dean right in the eye. “He’s the head science officer, kid. He takes orders from the top of the company. Like it or not, Dean, you’re not your daddy.”

“But who is he? Have you worked with him before?”

The captain shook his head. “No, the company replaced Anna at the last minute, said there was a complication with her contract. If you remember, that’s exactly how I got you as my warrant officer, and look what a delight that’s been for me. Dean, I just run the ship. Castiel has the final say in science matters. Now, how are the repairs going?”

Subject dismissed, just like that. Sometimes the captain reminded Dean of Dad. But he took a deep breath and collected himself. “They’re pretty much done. Still blind on B and C decks, reserve power systems are blown, and we now have acid residue on three levels.” He carefully did not mention that they still had a creature on board that produced said acid.

The captain nodded. “The ladies can fix the rest of that shit in transit,” he said. “It’s been exciting as hell, but I’m getting sick of the scenery. Let’s get this bird off the ground.”


	2. Part Two

**PART TWO**   


It didn’t make sense, Sam thought. Whatever the lifeform was, it had attacked Gordon, paralyzed him, put him into a coma, and yet now it was keeping him alive. He stared up at the X-rays the machine had spit out, following the whatever-it-was down the image of Gordon’s throat and to his chest. There was something happening there too, some kind of shadow that made it impossible to get a clear view of Gordon’s ribcage. But he didn’t understand what, exactly, or even where to begin looking to try to find the answer. Unlike what Dad had wanted, his degrees were going to be in chemistry and astrophysics; he only had a basic knowledge of biology, and there was no class that could have prepared him for this.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, looking at the dark shape of the lifeform on the monitor.

His comm flared to life. “ _The xenomorph’s blood appears to be acidic in nature,_ ” Castiel’s voice said. Sam refrained from saying that he could see that for himself and listened. “ _Its potency has a short span, but it is best if we do not try to remove it again or harm it in any way._ ”

“Good thing,” Sam replied, glancing at the thing wrapped around Gordon’s face. “It’s healed, Castiel. The cut the captain made is already gone.”

“ _Interesting_ ,” Castiel said. “ _Please continue monitoring the situation, but do not touch or attempt to harm the xenomorph. Our orders are to keep it alive for further study._ ”

“Affirmative,” Sam said, cutting the connection. Their orders were to bring it back alive, were they? he thought. That had Dad written all over it. Dad would want to know if there were more, and how to find them, and he wouldn’t care what he would have to do to find out. He would want to understand them before he slaughtered them.

Sam would try running a few more tests that the machine hadn’t done already, he decided. He could see if they could do some kind of composition analysis on the xenomorph, try to determine its makeup, whether it was carbon-based or not. And, he thought, he could also try irradiating it with oxygen. According to Gordon, there hadn’t been any present in the cavern under the structure. Perhaps a higher dose than it was processing now to keep Gordon alive would affect it enough to get it to drop off. He could try a few others too, gases that wouldn’t harm Gordon but just might have an effect on the xenomorph. He was all for scientific curiosity, but not like this, not at the cost of someone’s life. Not even Gordon’s. 

He tapped on the panel, setting up a basic chemical analysis test first. “Running analysis,” he said, and turned to watch Gordon’s body being drawn back into the machine.

The xenomorph was gone.

“What...” Sam trailed off. He quickly tapped on the cancel order button, closing the opening to the machine and stopping Gordon’s body just before it entered the wall. Cautiously, he approached. Gordon’s eyes were still closed, and there were reddish welts all over his face, little round marks that reminded Sam of the marks left behind by the suckers on octopuses and the like. As he watched, Gordon’s body shuddered, and he drew in a breath. 

“Captain,” Sam said, flipping his comm on. “I think you should come have a look at Gordon. Something's happened. The xenomorph’s gone.”

“Say what?” the captain demanded. 

“It’s gone,” Sam repeated. He heard a bang and looked up to see the captain and Dean both standing just outside the infirmary, looking in at him through the observation window. Dean’s eyes were wide with something like fear, and with a start, Sam realized why. The thing had dropped off of Gordon, on its own.

Which meant it was still alive in there somewhere. With him.

“Rufus, open the door,” Dean growled. “We’ve got to get Sam out—”

“You can’t open the door,” Castiel said, appearing behind them. “You can’t let it out.”

“It’s in there with my brother!” Dean spun on him, fists clenched. Sam took a step forward, even though it was pointless. He couldn’t leave the room to try to corral Dean. He sucked in a breath and darted his gaze around the infirmary, trying to figure out where the thing had gone. It wasn’t big, but it wasn’t so small that it could hide just anywhere. But there was no sign of it.

“We can’t let it out,” Castiel repeated. “We can’t kill it or harm it. Those are our orders. You should know that.”

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch,” Dean started, but the captain intervened. 

“Shut it, Dean,” he said. “Castiel, we can’t leave Sam in there with it. Can we try trapping it?”

Castiel tipped his head to the side. “That is acceptable,” he said finally. “As long as we're careful not to damage it.”

Dean was already punching in the open sequence on the door. “Sam?” he called as soon as the door was open, rushing inside with the captain and Castiel right behind him. The door slid shut again, and then Dean’s hands were on Sam’s shoulders, pulling him into a quick hug before releasing him.

“I’m fine,” Sam said before Dean could ask. “But I don’t know where it went.”

They each took a corner of the infirmary, searching through the equipment and under the carts. It might leave some kind of trail, Sam thought, remembering the slick look of the skin. He knelt to check under one of the rolling shelving units. Nothing. He straightened back up and started to look up, reasoning that it might be able to move across vertical surfaces.

“Sam!” Dean shouted, just as the xenomorph dropped from the ceiling onto Sam’s shoulder.

Gasping, Sam went down, shoving hard at it. It grappled with him, its tentacles sliding creepily across his skin, leaving little pinpricks of pain behind. Then it suddenly relaxed, and Sam smacked it off of him. It skidded across the floor, its skin fading as he watched, turning from a dull pinkish-beige to a lifeless gray. 

“Sammy!” Dean dropped to his knees next to him. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Sam panted, pushing him away. “But I think it’s dead.”

Castiel was already examining it, lifting the body with a probe and placing it on a metal tray. He slid it under the fluoroscope and peered at it. “No signs of life,” he confirmed after a moment. He lifted one of the appendages with the probe, showed it to them. It was covered with little suckers. “Look at these.”

“No wonder we couldn’t get it off,” the captain grumbled. 

“But it’s off now, and the fucker’s dead,” Dean said, clambering to his feet. He glanced at Sam momentarily, then turned to face Castiel. “I say we get rid of it. Blast it off the ship.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, this has to go back. This is our first contact with a specimen like this. There are hundreds of tests that can be run, even with a nonliving organism.”

“It’s protocol, Dean,” Sam murmured to him. Usually it was the other way around, Dean reminding him about all the protocols Dad had put into place to try to find alien life, Dean trying to get Sam to submit to whatever Dad wanted them to do. This sudden role reversal was just another strange thing in a day full of them. But Sam knew why. It was because of him, because Dean’s little brother was on this ship with it. The only times Dean ever broke Dad’s rules were when it was to keep Sam safe. 

Dean ignored him. “That thing bled acid, Cas,” he growled. “God knows what it'll do now that it's dead.”

“It is not a zombie, Dean,” Castiel said with no trace of humor. “Captain, we must keep this specimen.”

They all looked at the captain. “You're the science officer, Castiel,” he said finally. “It's your decision.”

“And it has been made,” Castiel said. “I'll seal it in a stasis tube.”

Sam glanced at Dean, whose lips were pinched in a thin white line. He reached out, laid a hand on Dean’s arm, trying to say without words to stay calm. Dean was usually good at following orders, but not when he thought doing so might put people in danger. Dean glanced at him again, his eyes narrowed, but he gave Sam a tiny nod. “I need some coffee,” he announced, and stalked out of the infirmary.

“And Gordon?” Sam asked.

“His vitals are fine,” Castiel responded without looking up, busy sealing the xenomorph into one of the vacuum specimen tubes. “Let the machine continue monitoring him. He may pull through.” 

“What’s this ‘may’?” a hoarse voice said behind them. Surprised, Sam turned and saw Gordon, his eyes open, his hands scrabbling weakly at the straps holding his body in place. “Shit, yo,” Gordon said to them, his mouth twisting in a half-smile. “Need some water.”

“How do you feel?” the captain asked after Gordon had finished drinking.

“Terrible. What happened to me?”

“You don't remember?” Sam asked.

Gordon shrugged, then winced. “Don't remember anything. I can barely remember my name. I feel like somebody's been beating me with a stick for about six years. What happened?”

The captain gave him a short summary while they ran every test they could think of. But other than a slightly elevated temperature and the more obvious welts on his face, Gordon seemed perfectly healthy. “I’m fine,” he protested when Castiel tried to take his oxygen saturation levels for the third time. “I’m hungry, actually. Hey, Sammy, isn’t it your turn to cook?” He grinned at him, which made the marks on his face stretch out.

“Sam,” Sam said under his breath. “And it’s Dean’s, not mine.”

“Go grab him and put something together,” the captain ordered. “I’ll let the ladies and Kubrick know that soup’s on. The repairs are almost done, and we’ve got our specimen sorted, so I think we’re almost done here.” He gave Sam a friendly punch on the arm. “We’ll have a good dinner before we go back into cryo-sleep. Just don’t let Bela or Pamela help you.”

Dean was oddly quiet when Sam found him back down in engineering, giving Bela and Pamela a hand, but he followed him to the kitchen readily enough. “Why did you want to get rid of it?” Sam asked him as he fried up onions. “You know this is exactly the sort of thing Dad’s been looking for.”

Dean gave him a sideways look. “And where is Dad?” he demanded, chopping potatoes with more force than necessary. “We haven’t heard from him in months, and suddenly _Cas_ is getting orders from him? And on your first trip out as part of a ship’s crew? Which also happens to be _my_ ship? It’s bullshit, Sam. Something’s up.”

“Maybe,” Sam agreed. “But we won’t know what until we get back.”

The entire crew assembled for dinner an hour later. Gordon arrived slowly, but he was walking again. “No, don’t get up,” he said when he came in, waving a hand. “Smells good, guys. How’s the ship?”

“We’ve done what we can,” Bela announced, shooing Impala off the table as she sat down. “We can get home, anyway. The rest’ll have to wait for when we’re on dry dock. Hey, what are we having?”

“Soup,” Sam and Dean responded together. Sam served everyone, then sat down next to Dean, with Gordon on his other side. Impala jumped onto his lap and curled up, purring softly. Sam dropped one hand down to scratch her between the ears. She spent most of her time with him, when she could be found at all, that was.

“So what do you remember?” Kubrick asked Gordon, staring in horrified fascination at his face.

“Not much,” Gordon replied after swallowing a spoonful of soup. “Just some horrible dream about—”

“Face rape?” Dean suggested.

“Smothering, actually,” Gordon said, shaking his head.

“Looks like we missed the fun,” Pamela smirked.

“Trust me, it wasn’t fun,” Dean muttered.

“You can say that again,” Gordon agreed. 

But the last word caught in his throat, and he suddenly pitched forward, coughing hard. “Gordon?” Bela said, startled, but Gordon couldn’t answer. His whole body was convulsing now, shudders running through him as bits of the soup dribbled from the corners of his mouth. 

“Lie him down!” the captain yelled.

Sam jumped to his feet, spilling Impala onto the floor. Together, he and Dean lifted Gordon and laid him on the table. Gordon’s eyes had rolled up in his head, and he was bucking now, his back lifting and then slamming into the table so hard the bowls rattled and spilled. One of Gordon’s hands caught Sam in the face, and he stumbled back, his nose smarting. Down near his feet, he heard Impala hiss.

“What the shit is going on?” Bela yelled.

“He’s having a seizure!” Pamela declared, darting around the table and grabbing one of Gordon’s arms. “Come on, we need to get him off his back or he could choke—”

She was interrupted by a sudden spray of blood hitting her in the face. 

There was blood on Gordon’s shirt, Sam saw, a thick wet patch of it spreading over his chest. As he watched in a sort of numb fascination, Gordon’s back arched again and there was a sudden, sickening tearing noise. Blood jetted from the spot, spraying out across the table and everyone there. Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Impala bolt from the room. 

Kubrick shoved his chair back so hard it fell, taking Kubrick with it. “Shit!” he screamed. “Jesus, what’s happening?”

“Castiel!” the captain roared. “Castiel, quick, we need to get him immobilized—”

But it was too late. Gordon’s body suddenly went limp, and his shirt bulged out, the wet fabric straining. Sam finally moved then, running forward and grabbing Dean’s arm, pulling him off of Gordon just as the shirt tore and something erupted out of his chest. 

Everyone froze, staring. 

The thing inside Gordon seemed to split open at one end, and it hissed at them, blood and mucus dripping off of it. A mouth, Sam realized. And that was a head. Which meant—

With a sudden jerk, the rest of the thing spilled from the cavity of Gordon’s chest. It was another xenomorph, that much was clear. But though its outer skin looked similar, its actual structure wasn't anything like the one that had attached itself to Gordon’s face. It was more like the carapace Sam had seen in the structure, only much, much smaller, only about as big as Impala the cat. A baby, he thought, and an almost hysterical laugh escaped him. His fingers tightened on Dean’s arm.

The xenomorph shook itself, splattering fluids across the table, and then leapt to the ground so fast Sam almost didn’t see it. Before any of them could react, it was gone, the skittering sound of its claws, or feet, or whatever it had, echoing into silence. 

“What was that?” Kubrick shrieked. “What the Christ was that?”

“It was growing in him,” Pamela panted, her eyes shining white through the scarlet splatters on her face. “It was growing in him the whole time and he didn’t even know it.”

“It used him as an incubator,” Sam said numbly. “That’s why it kept him alive, what that appendage down his throat was about.” He looked up, met their eyes. “It means we have another one.”

“Yeah,” Dean growled. “And it’s loose on the ship.”

*****

They scoured all of the uppermost levels, sealing doors behind them as they cleared each area. Dean took Bela through the bridge himself, forcing himself to focus on that and not the blank stare of Gordon’s body. What he was going to do if he found the creature, Dean didn’t know. He couldn’t make himself think that far ahead. _You’re in shock_ , a part of him said. _Like when Mom—_

“Anything?” he asked Bela.

She lifted her head from behind Kubrick’s console, tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Nothing,” she returned. “I can’t even find any sign of the damn cat.”

“She’s probably holed up somewhere safe,” Dean said. “Like we should be. C’mon, there’s nothing here. Seal it up and let’s get back to the others.”

They were all crowded around the mess hall door when Dean and Bela returned, standing in an awkward circle. Spattered with blood, all of them, Sam looking especially pale and shaken.

“Any signs?” the captain asked.

Dean shook his head.

“Nothing,” said Cas.

“Nothing,” Pamela agreed.

“Not a goddamned thing,” Kubrick added.

The captain heaved a heavy sigh. “Dean, any suggestions?”

“We can’t go into cryo-sleep with that thing running loose,” Dean said. “We’d be sitting ducks in the pods. We have to kill it, first.”

“We can’t kill it!” Kubrick snapped. “Acid blood, remember? That shit’ll eat right through the hull.”

“Damn straight,” Bela said. “We’re still trying to clean up the mess the other thing made when it bled.”

Dean shook his head. “All right, killing it is out. Then we’ll have to catch it and space the bitch.”

“How?” Sam still looked shell-shocked, but he had a smart head on his shoulders. Dean turned to him and nodded. “We’re still blind on B and C decks. All screens are out.”

Right. No other choice, then. “We split into two teams, arm ourselves, sweep the _Bellerophon_ level by level.”

“Our supplies are based on us spending a limited time outside of suspended animation,” Cas pointed out.

Dean made a face at him. “Then we’ll do it _quickly_. C’mon, let’s get started. This takes top priority.”

“No.” Dean turned to the captain, and found him staring back at the mess hall, and the mess of Gordon’s body. “We have one thing we need to do first.”

They wrapped him in the tablecloth, carried him to the port airlock. No one said anything when the captain hit the outer hatch control, sending Gordon’s body tumbling out into the cold black of space. It made Dean think of Mom again, even though he knew she’d died in an explosion. Pieces of her were scattered, somewhere out there, drifting for forever.

Dean sucked in a deep breath, stole a look over at Sam. His little brother was watching him. _Keep it together_ , he told himself. Not for himself, though. He had to hold it together for Sammy. Again.

They made their way up to the munitions locker, the captain in the lead, Dean bringing up the rear, just in case. He didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean the thing wasn’t out there, hiding in the shadows.

“Castiel,” the captain started. “Give me specs on that thing. What can we use to drive it towards the airlock?”

“We’re still collating,” Cas replied.

“Right.” The captain blew out an impatient breath. “All those tests, you’ve got to know _something_ by now. Just give me anything you’ve got.”

“It’s remarkably resilient, considering,” Castiel said after a pause. “The first form had an outer layer of protein polysaccharides. A lot of amino acids for prolonged resistance to adverse environmental conditions. Is that enough, or should I go on?”

“That’s plenty,” the captain replied. “Any ideas what to do?”

“What about heat?” Sam suggested. He glanced over at Cas. “It has resistance to the adverse environment on the planetoid, but we managed to cut it with the laser knife.”

“And discovered the acid blood in the process,” Cas pointed out. “But Sam is correct. It may respond negatively to a variation in temperature.”

“I have an idea,” Kubrick said. “Let’s all get in our pressure suits, blow all of the air out the airlock. That might kill it.”

“Or it might make it stronger,” Sam pointed out. “It survived on the planetoid with a minimal atmosphere, remember?”

“Besides,” Bela interjected, “you’re forgetting that the pressure suits only have enough oxygen for forty-eight hours. We’re not going to make it back home on that little air.”

“We could rig the system to blow out a partial atmosphere,” Pamela argued. “Seal off cleared areas, cut special lines.”

“Letting women cut our air supply?” Kubrick bitched. “Forget the damn alien, they’re more dangerous than it is.” 

“I could cut _you_ ,” Bela snapped. “Save your air for the rest of us.”

The captain sliced his hand through the air. “People,” he bellowed, “let’s focus. Dean, heat hurts the fucker.”

“Flamethrower, then?” Dean suggested. “We could drive it back toward the airlock that way.” He turned to Sam, ignored Cas. “Give me a heat level that will hurt it without making it bleed. We’ll flush it out.”

“Go room by room,” Sam agreed.

“And what do we do when we find the thing?” Kubrick asked. “Scorch everything in the hopes that it runs towards an airlock?”

“We need something to catch it,” Pamela said. She looked over at Bela. “It isn’t that big — we have some netting that might do the trick.”

“And I have a way to track the creature,” Cas said.

There was silence for a moment while they all took that in. Finally, Dean pulled himself together enough to respond. “And you just now thought to mention this fact?”

“It was irrelevant before,” Cas returned. “Now it is not.”

The captain strode forward the few steps separating him from Cas, stared down at him with an intensity that made lesser men break down. Cas just stared back, impassive. “Are you sure,” the captain said slowly, like he was talking to an unusually thick child, “that you’re entirely on board with this plan?”

“Of course,” Cas replied. “The xenomorph is a dangerous lifeform. I don’t want it to stay alive any longer than you do. And I don’t appreciate your questioning my motives, Captain, especially in front of the rest of the crew.” He started to turn away, but then his eyes caught on Sam. “Come, Sam, we’ll put together the tracking units.”

“Yes sir,” Sam replied, and trailed after him. Dean didn’t like the idea of Sam going, but at least he had Dad’s training under his belt. And at least Sam could keep an eye on Cas.

“All right, people,” the captain said. “We have our plan. Ladies, get us those nets. Dean, Kubrick, help me check over the flamethrowers. I want everything in tip-top shape when we go after this thing.”

It didn’t take long for everything to come together. They split into two groups, Dean with the ladies, and the captain taking Sam, Cas, and Kubrick, muttering something to himself that sounded suspiciously like, “ _Too damn old for this shit_.” On another day, under other circumstances, Dean would have mouthed off at him, some smartass comment designed to get the captain smiling again.

Instead, he gripped his flamethrower tight and made his way down the ladder to C deck. He went out in front, Pamela back and slightly to his right with the net — “Electrified for extra incentive,” she’d said — and Bela bringing up the rear with Cas’s tracking unit. The unit didn’t have much in the way of range, but both Cas and Sam assured them that it was very powerful.

They left the comm channel open, too. “Clear lines of communication,” Dean said, not incidentally looking in Cas’s direction, and the captain had agreed.

The power on C deck was still on auxiliary, so there was only track lighting along the corridor, barely enough to illuminate their footing. “Anything?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Bela replied.

“Gotta be here somewhere,” Dean growled. It could have been lower, by the engines or the refinery in the cargo bay, but those levels had passed the cursory visual sweep. With no visuals on B and C decks, Dean was betting that the alien was there with them, in the dark.

“Hold it,” Bela said. “I’ve got something.”

Dean turned his flamethrower on, kept it on low, just in case. “Where’s it coming from?”

“Not sure,” she said. “The light’s all over the place.” Dean turned to look at her, saw her scowling at the machine in the dim light. “Fucking thing sucks,” she muttered, and then struck it on the side with her open hand. “There we go—” She stopped, and then her face was lit up by the control panel. “Within ten meters,” she said, and pointed to a side corridor. “That way.”

Dean followed the signal, held his hand out to Pamela, motioned for her to stay back. He took another few steps, turned the corner, and stepped into deep shadows.

“I thought you two fixed 12 module,” Dean hissed.

“We did,” Pamela replied.

“The circuits must have burned out,” Bela added.

There was auxiliary lighting there too, Dean knew. He’d studied the ship’s specs enough times to know. He reached for the switch, fumbling in the dark, the shadows only lit by the tongue of fire licking the end of his flamethrower.

“Careful,” Bela said. “It’s close. Within five meters, now.”

“Pamela, you ready?” Dean asked. “On my mark.”

“Got it.”

“Now!” Dean flipped the switch, and the lights came on. At the same moment, Pamela swung her net down, connecting with something. It yowled, a familiar, feline yowl, and Pamela dropped her net in surprise.

“Dammit,” Dean swore, and Imp struggled out of the net, bolted away between their legs.

“ _What happened_?” The captain, concern in his voice.

“We netted the damn cat,” Bela answered. She shot a look at Dean. “Should have done something with it,” she said. “Now we might pick it up on the tracker again.”

“I got her,” Pamela said. She picked up her net and handed it to Dean. “Just don’t get your hand too close to the business end. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the gloom behind them, voice fading as she called out, “Here, kitty. Come here, Imp. Pretty girl, pretty girl...”

Dean shot a look at Bela, who scowled at the tracking device again. “Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Let’s keep moving.”

“Right.”

But nothing else showed up on the tracker, not even when they got to the end of the corridor and turned around. Not even Pamela was setting it off.

“Maybe it’s malfunctioning,” Dean suggested. “Hit it again.”

“Cute, Dean.”

“ _We may have a problem_ ,” Pamela’s voice came through the comm, breathless. “ _I found some shed skin. It’s getting bigger. Judging by this skin, it’s something like two meters long now._ ”

“Be careful,” Bela warned. “Get the cat and get back here!”

But Pamela didn’t reply. They followed her back down the corridor, Bela tracking her now, and not the alien.

“Where is she?” Dean demanded.

And that was it, that was when they heard her scream. Dean dropped the net and ran towards the sound of it, even as it cut off just as suddenly as it had started. All Dean managed to see before it was all over was Imp hiding behind a bulkhead, ears back, hissing and spitting, and a huge shape pulling a pair of legs into an air shaft.

Below the opening was blood, and one of Pamela’s shoes.

“ _What’s happening down there_?” the captain demanded.

Dean slumped back against the wall. “It got her, Rufus. It got Pamela.”

*****

The six of them locked themselves into the mess after checking to make sure the xenomorph wasn’t in range of the tracking unit. Gordon’s blood still marked the walls and the table, but darker now, the stains dried. The captain was the last one in, still swearing under his breath as he bolted the door shut.

Sam sank into a chair next to Dean, still shaking. Dean had been right there. Dean had _seen it_ , had been inches away from being the one taken, and all because Dad couldn’t let Mom’s death go, had made it his life’s mission to find whatever had killed her, and had dragged him and Dean, along with thousands of other people who worked for the company, into it with him. Sam had never seen eye to eye with their father, had always been defiant when it came to Dad’s ridiculous rules, but he had never really hated him before now.

_It had almost been Dean._

“So what the hell do we do now?” the captain demanded of them. “Any ideas?”

“Two down,” Kubrick moaned, face in his hands. He slid from the chair onto his knees, clasping his hands in front of him, his lips mumbling out what sounded like a prayer. 

The captain sighed. “Any ideas other than praying?” 

“I say screw our orders, we blast that motherfucker apart with a laser and take our chances.” Bela’s face was hard, her words practically vibrating with suppressed rage and sorrow.

“No,” Sam argued. “It’s too big now. It’s got enough acid in it to melt a hole as big as this room.”

“It wouldn’t work, anyway,” Castiel added. “It’s self-regenerating. We saw that when we tried to cut the other one. It would merely heal any wound inflicted on it.”

“Look, the plan hasn’t changed,” Dean growled. “We drive it into an airlock and blow it out into space. Only thing that’s gonna work on this son of a bitch.”

“Drive it?” Kubrick started laughing. “How do we _drive_ it? That fucker is huge now!”

“For once, the idiot has a point.” Bela crossed her arms, glaring. “How the hell do we do it?”

“The science department should be able to help us with that,” the captain said, turning to look pointedly at Castiel. “So tell me, what else was irrelevant before now?”

Castiel considered. “The computer indicated that he is a primitive form of a cephalopod. An encephalopod, if you will.”

Sam blinked. He hadn’t seen that, but then, despite theoretically being privy to everything the science officer was, he hadn’t seen the orders concerning it either. He was starting to think that Castiel was concealing even more from him than he’d thought before.

“He?” Bela repeated. “How come it’s a he now?”

Castiel shrugged. “Just a phrase. As a matter of fact, the xenomorph shows characteristics of being bisexual, or hermaphroditic to be precise.”

“Skip its sex life,” Dean said impatiently. “How do we kill it?”

“As stated before, the only variable I am unsure of is temperature,” Castiel replied. “We already know it has adapted to an oxygen-rich atmosphere, and apparently to humans as a source of nutrition as well.”

Kubrick moaned again. “We’re gonna burn with it,” he whimpered. “We’re all gonna burn.”

“Quit your bellyaching,” the captain ordered. “Okay, so we’re back to flamethrowers and driving it to an airlock. How the hell are we going to _do_ it?”

“It’s using the air shafts,” Sam said suddenly, remembering. “It dragged Pamela into the starboard air shaft on C deck, right?” He turned, looked at Bela. “We can block off the egresses in that shaft except one, can’t we? And then use that one to get into the shaft and drive it to the starboard airlock.”

Bela sat up straight, snapping her fingers. “Yes! And then all we’ll have to do is crawl in the vent with it, find our way through the maze, and hope it's afraid of fire. Piece of cake!”

The captain snorted. “Well, you said you wanted an equal share. Glad you’re volunteering, Bela.”

Bela crossed her arms again. “Hell no. You need me to monitor the exit.”

“I’ll go,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, but the captain beat him to it. “I need you on the airlock. Kubrick, go with him and monitor with the tracker. Bela, take Sam and monitor the exit. Sam, I want you on the other tracker so you can direct me. Everyone clear?”

They all nodded, even Kubrick.

“Then let’s do it,” the captain said, turning to the mess hall door.

“It’s weird,” Sam whispered in an undertone to Dean as soon as he was sure no one was close enough to overhear. They were all grouped around the door as the captain worked at getting it unlocked. “That it’s a kind of cephalopod, I mean. I had no idea. Well, all right, the suckers are similar, but—”

“Get to the point, Sam. Why?”

“Because lower species like those can't adapt as quickly as higher ones,” Sam explained. “But this one's doing very well. It’s a real survivor, Dean. It probably has as good a chance as we do.”

“Shit,” Dean said with feeling.

“Yeah.”

Behind them, Sam heard the sound of a throat being cleared. As one, he and Dean turned around. Castiel stood there. He tilted his head to the side. “You’re both being paranoid,” he said, then walked past the captain out the open door and disappeared in the direction of the science station.

“Better paranoid than dead,” Dean muttered.

They had to split up after that. Dean headed in the direction of the airlock, Kubrick trailing after him, staring intently at his tracking unit. Bela pressed her hand against one of the interface panels and tapped in a few commands, then motioned for them to follow her. Sam followed her and the captain to the B deck vent exit. It was still dark, with only auxiliary lighting and the captain’s flamethrower to light their way. “I left this one open,” Bela said softly as she twiddled with the controls. “Sam, can you calibrate that thing so it can track the captain?”

Sam had already made the necessary adjustments. “Done,” he said.

The captain hefted the flamethrower and twisted the gears. A bright flame shot from the end, throwing orange flickering light on the walls. “Comms on,” he said. “Sending. Dean, Kubrick? You in position?”

“ _We’re here_ ,” Dean’s voice came back. 

The captain squared his shoulders. “If I don't make it back, Dean will need this,” he said, taking the master computer key from around his neck and handing it to Sam. “Here goes nothing.” Taking a deep breath, he slung the flamethrower over his back and crawled into the air shaft. 

Bela closed the vent after him. “It’s your show now,” she said to Sam, sliding down the wall until she was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Sam sat down across from her and switched the tracker unit on. A bright green dot started flashing in the approximate position he assumed the captain was. But there was no corresponding red dot to mark the xenomorph’s presence. Or Impala’s, he thought. “Captain? Rufus, I can see you, but the xenomorph’s not in range.”

“ _It’s not far from you_ ,” came Kubrick’s voice over the comm. “ _It’s right on the edge of my range and heading your way!_ ”

“ _I’m ready for it_ ,” the captain said, voice grim.

“I can see it now,” Sam said, staring intently at the tracker. A red dot had appeared on the edge, blinking furiously as it moved in short increments across the screen. “It’s two junctions away from you, Rufus. Go forward and then take the first left, then a right.”

“ _Copy_ ,” the captain said, and Sam watched as his dot began to move, blinking slowly toward the red one.

“It’s moving fast,” he said. His fingers were white on the edges of the unit, but he couldn’t make himself loosen them. He didn’t know the captain as well as Dean, but he could still remember meeting him several times over the years. Rufus Turner was one of Dad’s friends, or at least he had been. 

“ _How close am I?_ ”

“You should see it once you’ve taken the right,” Sam responded, heart pounding in his ears. Please, he thought. Please let the fire work.

“ _Turning now._ ” 

On the screen, the green dot paused, then jumped position just as the red dot did. They were in the same stretch of corridor now. Sam’s grip tightened. “Rufus? It’s right there!” 

There was a pause. “ _I don’t see it_ ,” the captain said finally. “ _Are you sure it’s here?_ ”

“It’s right on top of you!” Sam’s hands were shaking now. 

Bela stirred then, crawling across the floor to grab the edge of the unit, steadying it. “I can see it too, boss,” she reported, her voice strained. “Try the flamethrower, now!”

“ _I still don’t see it_.”

The dots were literally one on the screen now, blinking red-green-red-green. “Get out of there!” Sam croaked. “Rufus, it’s too close, turn around and get out!”

“ _Listen to him, Rufus!_ ” Dean’s voice said over the comm. 

“ _Not until I know where it—_ ” the captain started. There was a burst of static, and then an ugly noise that reminded Sam of the sound Gordon’s chest had made when it ripped open. Then it went quiet.

“Rufus?” Sam cried. “Rufus, can you hear me?”

On the screen, both dots vanished.


	3. Part Three

**PART THREE**   


Dean followed Bela into the ventilation shaft, stomach roiling. It was bad, he knew it was bad, but despite everything he was still holding out hope that they’d find the captain in one piece. Instead, they didn’t find him at all. Unlike with Pamela, there was no blood, no body. Just his flamethrower and a hole torn through the shaft, all the way to the central cooling complex. Bela didn’t say anything, and that helped. She just put her hand on his shoulder in sympathy.

Four jobs. Four jobs with the captain, proving himself to be more than just the boss’s kid, four jobs busting his ass and keeping the _Bellerophon_ running smoothly.

It was over, now. When he climbed back out of the ventilation shaft, he couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “I’m the senior officer now,” he said.

“The hell you are,” Kubrick snapped.

Bela stepped up to him. “Would it hurt you to stop being an ass for one minute?” she demanded. “Rufus wanted him in charge in case something happened. I was here, Kubrick. And Sam has the master computer key.”

Sam didn’t say anything, didn’t try to make it sound like it wasn’t as bad as it really was. He just reached out, the key sitting on his open palm.

“Shit,” Dean said, and took it. It was real, everything was really real and very much fucked up. _Hold it together_ , he told himself again. He would have time to grieve once the alien was dead, once they were safe and far away from its remains. “Thanks, Sammy. Sorry this has been a bitch of a job.”

“Not your fault,” Sam returned.

Kubrick just huffed. “So now what,” he said. “You got some plans for us, big boss?”

“The plan hasn’t changed,” Dean replied. “We track it, herd it, space it. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Kubrick shot back. “What about the escape shuttle? Why don’t we just blow this ship to kingdom come and get the hell out of here?”

“The escape shuttle only has four cryo-pods,” Dean pointed out. “Unless you’re volunteering to be the one to stay awake while we wait to be rescued, that’s a no go.”

“There has to be a way to kill it,” Bela said, frowning. “Everything can be killed. You just have to know how to do it.”

“Castiel knows more than he’s been telling us,” Sam said. He glanced around at the others, for a moment looking so damned young. “He figured out that the xenomorph is similar to a cephalopod. Who knows what else he knows?”

Dean looked down at the key in the palm of his hand. “Cas has orders, just like the rest of us. I think it’s time we find out what his are.”

The master computer hub was above A deck, separate from the rest of the ship. Dean had never been inside it before, but he knew what to expect. The room was roughly spherical, white, with a pared-down console that was nothing like the others on the bridge. It was the information center of the _Bellerophon_ , the biblical Mount Sinai, handing them down orders carved into stone.

Dad liked it that way.

He sat down in the seat and started typing.

QUERY: WHAT ARE CASTIEL’S ORDERS?

ANSWER: CASTIEL IS ACTING UNDER ORDER 937.

QUERY: WHAT IS ORDER 937?

ANSWER: ORDER 937 IS FOR SCIENCE OFFICER’S EYES ONLY.

“There’s an explanation for this,” Cas said.

Dean jumped up out of the seat, whirled to face him. “The hell there is. Dad wants you to bring in that thing alive at all costs, doesn’t he?”

“You’re not authorized for that information.”

“What about this crew?” Dean demanded. “Rufus is dead, Gordon is dead, Pamela is dead. Does any of that matter to you? To _him_?”

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice irritatingly calm, “you’re being irrational.”

“What are our chances, Cas? Tell me that, all right?”

Cas hesitated. “We’re still collating,” he said at last.

“Collating,” Dean repeated. And that was when he hit Cas. Cas rocked back from the blow, a puzzled expression on his face, but other than that it was like nothing had even happened. Dean stumbled back, his fist burning, and stared at Cas’s impassive face.

Sam. He was an intern, yes, but he was a science officer, too. Maybe there was a way to get the computer to tell _him_ about Order 937. Dean just needed to know for himself if it was true. If Dad had really sacrificed them, his own flesh and blood, for his great vendetta.

Sam was waiting just outside the computer hub, but his face quickly turned from hope to worry. “Dean!” he called out, pointing.

It was too late. Cas was already on top of him, swinging wildly. He caught Dean in the side, sent him flying into a bulkhead. Dean struggled to his feet, only to get knocked down again by a savage kick. He lay there, trying to make his lungs suck in air, listening to the sounds of his brother beating on Cas. There was a sickening thump, Sam gasping like the air had been knocked out of him. And then Dean felt a hand closing around his throat, lifting him up into the air. He pried his eyes open to look at Cas, saw something dark and cylindrical in his other hand.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said. “But it really does have to be this way.”

And then he shoved whatever it was in Dean’s mouth. Dean fought, tasted blood as he tried to knock it out of Cas’s hand, but Cas’s grip was too tight, and Dean was choking, the edges of his vision going gray.

Then all at once, he was released. He fell back, coughing and spitting. He looked up and saw Sam standing over him, a chair in his hands. And Cas, Cas was on the floor himself, his head knocked back at an unnatural angle, his throat torn open, skin flapping.

Without warning, Cas jumped up again, reached in Dean’s direction. But he didn’t get far before he collapsed and stopped moving, this time for good. Dean looked up and saw Kubrick there, a cattle prod in his hand.

“Goddamned creep was a droid!” he yelled. He kicked at Cas’s still body, and the head completely disconnected from the rest of him and rolled half a meter away.

Bela came in behind Kubrick, offered Dean a hand and helped him to his feet. “I should have known,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “I’ve worked with droids before, I should have seen the signs.”

“And then what?” Kubrick demanded. “You would have known he was a droid and done what, exactly?” He shook his head, looked up towards the ceiling. “What the hell is going on?”

“Let's find out,” Dean rasped. “Wire him back up.”

*****

Sam stood with Dean against the curved wall of the computer hub, watching while Bela feverishly fooled with the circuits in Castiel’s neck. “A droid,” she kept muttering under her breath, pausing every few seconds to push her damp hair out of her eyes. “A motherfucking _droid_.”

Kubrick stood in the opposite curve, his hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed. He wasn’t talking, or at least not loud enough for them to hear. Sam was grateful for that much, at least. 

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked him, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder. It hurt, but then, nearly everything on Sam’s body hurt, thanks to Castiel. He could tell that his ribs were bruised, as they ached every time he took a breath, and his left eye was already swelling. But Dean looked worse, he thought. The corners of his mouth were cut open and scraped raw, and bruises were blossoming on his throat. And yet he was worrying about Sam. As usual.

Sam started to say something noncommittal, but then Bela exclaimed, “Got it!” and Dean turned away from him. Bela stepped back, revealing Castiel’s detached head propped up against an exposed circuit board, with wires running out from under the flaps of synthetic skin that had attached his neck to his body. As Sam watched, Bela flipped a switch on the circuit, and a jolt seemed to pass through Castiel’s face. His eyes blinked open.

“All right, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled, placing his hands on the table and leaning down until he was eye-to-eye with Castiel’s head. “What is Special Order 937?”

“I can't tell you that,” Castiel replied. His voice sounded different, stripped of all the pretense of humanity it had had before. It was mechanical now, utterly even in tone, a buzz underlying each word. A thick white fluid was dribbling from his ears, gathering in the corners of his eyes, trickling from the corners of his mouth. Some kind of robotic circuit fluid, Sam assumed. Bela would know for sure. 

Dean straightened up and turned his back on Castiel’s head. “Then there's no point in talking to you. Bela, pull the plug.”

Bela reached out, her face hard.

“Special Order 937 asked me to direct the ship to the planet,” Castiel said quickly, his voice rising in volume. His eyes blinked again, a fraction of a second apart. “I was to investigate a potentially hostile lifeform and bring it back for observation. With discretion, of course.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “Why not tell us?”

Castiel’s lips peeled back in a grimace of a smile. “Would you have agreed to go?” 

“Of course not,” Bela seethed, looking as if she wanted to hit Castiel again. “It’s not in our contract, not even under that goddamned protocol section. We’re a mining vessel, not a fucking alien transport service!”

Castiel’s head jerked, like he wanted to nod, and one of his eyes froze mid-blink. But his lips kept moving. “My very point.”

“So they wanted us to investigate this alien, no matter what happened to us,” Kubrick said, smacking a hand into the wall. He rounded on Sam and Dean. “Your fucking father didn’t give a shit what happened to any of us, long as he got his hands on an alien!” He started laughing. “Not even to you two. Oh, this is fucking rich.”

Castiel’s one working eye swiveled to fix on Kubrick. “None of you was mentioned in the order,” he said. “The crew was considered expendable.”

“Expendable, huh?” Dean repeated. As Sam watched, several emotions chased across his brother’s face, starting with shock and moving through disbelief and fear, to end with cold anger. He leaned forward again, pinned Castiel with his glare. “Tell me this, you asshole. How do we kill it?”

“I don't think you can,” Castiel replied. “But I might be able to. If you would reconnect—”

“No,” Sam said at the same time Dean growled, “Bela, pull the plug.”

“Don't be so hasty,” Castiel said before Bela could do more than extend her hand. “You'll never kill it without my help.” 

Dean snorted. “We've had enough of your help.”

“You still don't realize what you're dealing with, do you?” Castiel’s head twitched slightly, causing more of the thick white fluid to leak from his eyes and mouth. “The xenomorph is a perfect organism. Superbly structured, cunning, quintessentially violent. With your limited capabilities you have no chance against it.”

“You sick fuck,” Bela breathed. “You admire it.”

“How can one not admire perfection? But,” his eye rolled back to Dean, “if you reconnect me, I will help kill it. I am programmed to protect human life.”

“Even if you have contempt for it,” Sam said. It wasn’t a question.

“Even then.”

“Bullshit,” Dean growled. “If that was true, you wouldn’t have let that thing use and kill Gordon like that. You wouldn’t have let the captain or Pamela die. You’re programmed to follow this order, and to hell with our human lives.” He jerked his head at Bela. “Pull the goddamn plug, Bela.”

Bela reached out and yanked the circuits free, throwing them to the ground. “You egocentric fools,” Castiel intoned, his voice slowing with every syllable. “You'll be ripped to shreds, fed...upon...and...”

“He’s right,” Kubrick said after a beat. “It doesn’t matter what we do. We can’t beat this thing. We’re all gonna die.”

“We can still try the plan,” Bela argued. “I am not just giving up because some fucking droid says we should.”

“Either the lack of oxygen gets us, or that thing does,” Kubrick spat back. “We’ll die either way! Get that through your pretty little head!”

“No, we won’t,” Dean declared before Bela could do more than take a furious step toward Kubrick. He swept his hand out, knocking Castiel’s head to the ground, then turned to face the three of them. “Fuck the plan. We’re gonna blow up the ship.”

Kubrick laughed again. “Yeah, great plan, boss! Let’s all just go down in a blaze of glory instead!”

“We can take the escape shuttle now, Kubrick,” Sam said quietly. “Four pods. Four of us left. We rig the ship, escape in the shuttle, and blow it.”

Kubrick scowled. “Smart ass.”

“Great plan,” Bela declared, raking her hands through her hair and tucking it behind her ears. “Let’s do it.”

“You’re not worried about losing your shares?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Bela snorted. “Not much good to me if I’m dead, are they?” She grinned at them, fierce through the blood still smudged on her face. “Let’s do it, Dean.”

Dean produced the master computer key and slid it home. “Let’s light up this bitch.”

Sam took over once Dean had accessed the mainframe, quickly initiating the self-destruct sequence. He had always been faster than Dean on computers, even if Dean had more practical experience with shipboard ones. But Dad’s training had included knowing exactly how to set off the self-destruct sequence on every type of vessel the company owned. “How long?” he asked, pausing.

“We just need to get supplies into the shuttle and then get out,” Dean said. “Give us twenty minutes.”

Sam typed a few more words and hesitated. It didn’t seem right, destroying the _Bellerophon_. The ship had been Dean’s post for the last several assignments, and was the first ship he and Dean had both served on together as members of the crew and not just passengers. Even if Sam had come aboard to fulfill a requirement, it was one of the few places they could both call home. But there was no choice, not if he wanted them to stay alive. He tapped the last key to start the sequence, then opened the safety cover and drew the handle underneath forward until it locked. The panel lit up, bathing them all in red light. SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED, the screen read. A countdown flashed up next to it, the numbers ticking down from 20:00. 

He pulled the key free. “Done. We’d better get moving.”

They left the computer hub a few seconds later. Kubrick was in charge of keeping watch on the tracker, making sure the xenomorph wasn’t nearby, while Dean led the way. Both he and Bela held the flamethrowers at the ready. Sam kept hold of the master computer key, just in case something went wrong. “We’ve gotta move the food and what’s left of the oxygen over,” Dean said after they’d clambered down several levels to the cargo bay. “And we have to get it done in the next fifteen minutes. I want at least a couple of minutes to get away from the ship before she blows.”

The xenomorph was nowhere to be seen, and they reached the supplies storage locker without incident. The four of them worked as fast as they could, loading carts with as much food and water and oxygen canisters as they could before they ventured back out into the corridor. “Kubrick, a reading?” Dean asked.

“Still not on the tracker,” Kubrick replied. He looked almost surprised. “We’d better hurry though. Twelve minutes left.”

They started for the shuttleport, making their way up a level to C deck and through the barely-lit corridors. About ten meters from the loading bay, Dean stopped. “What?” Sam asked, turning.

“Imp,” Dean answered. “I hear her. You guys go load up the shuttle, I’ll grab her. Stay with them, Sammy.”

Before Sam could protest that they shouldn’t split up, Dean had veered off to the right, disappearing toward one of the cargo storage areas. Sam started to follow him, but then stopped. Dean was trusting him to help, trusting him to get the supplies moved in time. The least Sam could do was trust him to get back.

“Nice of you to help,” Kubrick sneered when Sam came into the loading bay. “We’re already half done. Where’s our new captain?”

“Getting Impala,” Sam said, hefting an oxygen tank. “She’s coming too.”

“That cat,” Bela said, shaking her head.

Above her, something moved.

The tracker in Kubrick’s hand suddenly started flashing. Sam froze, peering up into the dark recesses of the ceiling. There was a quiet scraping noise, and then the xenomorph dropped onto the floor between Bela and Kubrick. It was massive now, taller than Sam, its head longer than his arm, with a large open mouth filled with razor-like teeth splitting one end of it. It was hissing, spiked tentacles whipping around as it reached out a hand-like thing toward Kubrick, who was screaming now, high-pitched shrieks of utter terror. But there was nowhere for him to go, and the xenomorph’s claws pierced him over the heart, causing blood to fountain out in a wide arc over the loading bay.

“No!” Bela yelled, throwing the food parcel she was holding at it before scrambling back, fumbling for her flamethrower. She’d taken it off, though, left it next to the shuttle bay doors. Only a meter away, Sam saw. But too far.

The food parcel bounced off without effect, and the xenomorph turned on her, its mouth opening wider, and a smaller version of its head shot out, slavering, toward Bela. Some kind of viscous fluid dripped from both sets of jaws. Its tail lashed out, whipped across Bela’s calves, dropping her to her knees. Bela screamed.

Sam jerked into action then, lifting the oxygen canister and rushing forward, swinging it as hard as he could into the back half of the thing’s head. The carapace dented under the impact, cracking, and Sam saw a couple droplets of its blood spray out before the cut sealed. The xenomorph spun then, its tentacles whipping into Sam and throwing him down the corridor to collide with the far wall. 

But not before the drops of blood hit him in the face. 

“ _What the hell?_ ” Sam heard Dean’s voice say from his comm.

Then everything went black.

*****

Dean found Imp far back into the cargo bay, wedged between two crates of raw ore. She made a displeased noise when he picked her up, but she clung to the front of his shirt. “You don’t like that thing any more than we do,” Dean said, and gave her a pet behind the ears. There was a box somewhere, for keeping her contained when they needed it, but he didn’t remember where it was. _No time_ , he told himself, and hefted her up onto his shoulder. She dug in her claws to hold on, but really, after everything else that was just a minor complaint.

He made his way back towards the shuttle, checking corners and blind spots for the alien. It would be just his damned luck to come this far, get this close to escape, and then get eaten by the ugly fucker.

Imp hissed then, and Dean started to raise a hand to stroke her again. He wasn’t expecting the comm to go crazy. He froze in his tracks, listening to the sounds of violence on the other end of the line. “What the hell?” he said, and ran.

It could have just been Kubrick and Bela, taking things out on each other. They’d never gotten along, never. Dean tried to ignore Imp digging her nails in even further, the pain in his ribs, and the choked-off sound Sam had made into the comm.

He found them. There was blood everywhere. There was no sign of the alien, but Kubrick and Bela were laid out, torn apart. Sam was about two meters back from them, curled up in a tight ball.

“Sammy!”

Dean dropped the cat, dropped to his knees, rolled Sam onto his back. He was breathing, thank god, but that was the only good news. Dean could hear the sizzle of acid on skin. He didn’t want to look, to see the damage done to his brother, but he shoved Sam’s messy hair out of the way.

It got his eyes.

His baby brother was big, now, bigger than he’d been all those years ago on Mom’s ship, but Dean could still carry him. He left the supplies where they were and dragged Sam up to the infirmary. They didn’t have time, he knew, but they also didn’t have the supplies for this sort of thing on the shuttle. 

Sam groaned when Dean laid him back on the exam table. He tried to wipe the blood away from his brother’s face, but the blood burned and left ugly red welts on Dean’s fingers. He needed something to neutralize the acid, and he needed something fast, before it ate through Sam’s face and did damage to his giant brain.

There was an alkaline solution, somewhere in the infirmary. But Dean didn’t know where. He shook Sam awake, as gently as he could. “Come on, college boy, I need your help.”

Sam groaned, “Alkaline flush,” and then limply flapped one hand to the side. The fabric on his sleeves was melted, Dean noticed, the skin underneath blistered. Sam must have covered his hands with his sleeves before trying to wipe the acid away. At least he’d had the presence of mind for that, Dean thought. Not that it had helped much.

“I know that,” Dean told him. “Where is it?”

“Specimen tubes,” Sam mumbled. “Above, in the cabinet. Dean, it _burns_.”

Dean bolted to the far side of the infirmary. There, sitting out on Castiel’s desk, sealed tight in a vacuum tube, was the creature that had started it all. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, and then he smashed the tube to the floor. He wanted to stomp on it, leave its body a greasy smear on the deck. But then Sam groaned again, and Dean turned back to the cabinet. He had work to do, and he wasn’t neat about it either, rifling through vials and bottles, knocking the ones he didn’t need to the floor, until he found it.

Then he was back with Sam. He rolled Sam over onto his side, poured the solution into what remained of his eyes, kept pouring and pouring, waiting for the hiss to die away. It took too long, in Dean’s opinion, and finally he rolled Sam entirely onto his stomach, hung his face off the side of the exam table, and wiped away the hissing clumps of flesh.

His fingers were bleeding by the time he finished, but he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. He poured the last of the solution across Sam’s arms, breathed out a sigh of relief when the blood coming from his face finally started to slow. It wasn’t okay, not yet. But maybe, Dean hoped, maybe it could be. He grabbed gauze from a drawer, covered the remains of Sam’s eyes, and then wrapped it all up tight. 

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean said, dipping his hand into Sam’s pocket and grabbing the key. “Help me out again. The terminal, I need to unlock the terminal. We’re almost out of time.”

Sam’s answer was agonizingly slow, but he was thinking through a haze of pain and shock. It took the both of them several tries before the computer let Dean have any kind of access. Then he inserted the master control key into the terminal, turned it, and punched in the code to reset the self-destruct sequence. They needed more time.

“ _The ship will self-destruct in T-minus five minutes_ ,” the computer droned.

Dean stared at the terminal, then punched in the code again. UNABLE TO COMPLY, the screen read, and then the countdown appeared there as well.

A hundred different urges swelled up in Dean, all at once. He wanted to scream, to break things, to punch the wall until his other hand was a bloody mess as well. He wanted to bring Castiel back to life just long enough to rip him apart again, wanted to do the same to the dead creature on the floor. Wanted to find Dad and take him by the shoulders and just shake him, until he finally understood what they’d been through. Until he understood that he’d put them through it _again_.

Instead, he grabbed Sam off the exam table, pulled him up to his feet. “C’mon, Sammy,” he said. “Time to go.”


	4. Part Four

**PART FOUR**   


The pain blinded Sam, deafened him, made it impossible for him to tell where he was or even who had picked him up and dragged him away. He knew he was moaning, screaming maybe, trying to cry, but there were no tears, nothing that could cut through the burn. A distant part of him knew what had happened, knew that the xenomorph’s acid blood was eating at his eyes, and when Dean shook him he even managed to tell him where to find the alkaline flush in the infirmary. 

At least Dean was there, he thought, falling back into a half-stupor until the feel of Dean’s hands turning him and the shockingly cool rush of the alkaline flush washing over his eyes jerked him back into awareness. At least Dean was safe.

He felt Dean lift him, could tell that Dean was wrapping something around his head, but only because of the pressure on his temples. He couldn’t feel the bandaging over his eyes. He couldn’t feel anything there anymore. The skin on his arms, where the acid had touched him after eating away his sleeves, still hurt, but the pain in his eyes had stopped, and Sam knew then. He knew what that meant, and it wasn’t good. As long as it had hurt, it had meant that there was something there to feel the pain. 

There was nothing left.

But there wasn’t time to think about it. He wasn’t dead, neither of them was yet, and Dean needed his help. Sam forced himself to think, tried to remember what he had done to set the self-destruct sequence. “The reset code for class A mining vehicles,” he mumbled, the words coming out painfully slowly. “SW68756. Try that. Use the master key.”

“On it,” Dean said.

“ _The ship will self-destruct in T-minus five minutes_ ,” the computer droned.

A moment later, Sam felt Dean’s hand grab his in a vice-like grip. “C’mon, Sammy,” his brother said, tugging him back up into a sitting position and then onto his feet. “Time to go.”

“The code?” Sam asked. His lips felt heavy.

“It’s not working. We’ve got to make a run for the shuttle. Can you walk?” Dean sounded calm, but Sam knew him well enough to hear the thread of panic in his voice.

“I think so.” Sam took a step toward Dean, his legs shaking. Dean grabbed his arm, steadying him, and Sam reached up with his free hand, feeling for his brother. His hand touched a thick strap slung across Dean’s shoulder, which he realized must belong to the flamethrower. Sam could feel the heat from it, a slight warmth emanating toward his far side. So Dean still had it. That was good.

“Hang on,” Dean said, and he pulled the strap free. Then he wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist. “All right, let’s go.”

“ _The ship will self-destruct in T-minus four minutes_ ,” the computer announced.

Together, they made their way across the room, toward the door, Sam assumed. He could hear glass crunching underfoot, and he stumbled once, almost falling before Dean hauled him back upright. Sam tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder and forced his legs as steady as he could. His skin prickled under the bandages, a slight twinge on the left, somewhere near what used to be his eye. He ignored it.

The door hissed as it slid open, and Dean swung him a little, pulled him through the opening sideways. “We’re taking a right,” Dean murmured in his ear, and Sam turned with him. The walls were too close with the two of them trying to move abreast like this, and more than once Sam’s shoulder banged painfully into the wall. But Dean didn’t slow down, and Sam didn’t ask him to. The infirmary was on A, two levels above and several corridors over from the shuttleport. There wasn’t time.

But Dean knew the ship, knew every inch of it, and they moved fast, making good time until Sam’s hands slipped and he fell off halfway down the second ladder. His knees banged into the floor before Dean grabbed him, pulling him back to his feet and swinging him around in one motion. “You good?” he grunted. Sam nodded and gripped his brother’s shoulder again, ignoring the stinging pain in his knees. They’d made it back to C level. 

They were almost there.

“ _The ship will self-destruct in T-minus three minutes_.”

“Not much farther,” Dean panted, the panic thicker in his voice. “C’mon, Sammy, just one more turn and then we’re home free.”

They stumbled down the corridor, breathing hard. Sam’s foot bumped into something, and he heard a startled meow coming from the direction of the floor. “Imp!” he exclaimed, letting go of Dean and dropping to a crouch, hands out. He nearly fell forward, but he felt Dean’s hand grab him by the shirt collar and yank him upright just as his own hands touched fur.

Sam gathered Impala into his arms, cradling her close. Her heart was beating frantically, and she let out a mewl and dug her claws into his chest. “Good girl,” he whispered to her, stroking her ears. She was purring, a high thin purr that didn’t sound anything like her usual contented one. 

“Come _on_ , Sam,” Dean urged.

Staggering, Sam got back to his feet, Impala still clutched protectively to his chest. He wasn’t going to let her go, not for anything. She was coming with them. It wasn’t going to be like it was last time, with Mom, when every person on that ship except the two of them had died. He’d heard the story from Dad a million times, knew that Mom had given him to Dean and put them both in an escape shuttle, that she had died making sure they would survive. Dean wouldn’t talk about it, but Sam could imagine what it must have been like for him, only five years old and alone with a toddler for nearly a week before Dad’s ship had found them drifting in the wreckage. 

No. Impala was coming with them.

Dean took his shoulder and pulled him along behind him. “Last turn,” he encouraged, and Sam instinctively turned to the right, toward the shuttle bay. Where he knew Kubrick’s body must still lie, blood-spattered and broken. 

“ _The ship will self-destruct in T-minus two minutes_.”

Inexplicably, Dean slowed down. “Why—” Sam started, but then his shoes slipped on something, and he realized. The loading bay floor was coated in blood. For a second, he was almost glad that he was blinded, that he wouldn’t have to see this again. Biting his lip, Sam picked his way after Dean, his boots sticking and coming free with sucking noises with every step. Impala was squirming in his arms, letting out little high-pitched mewls, but Sam kept a grip on her. He wasn’t going to let her die too.

The toe of his boot caught on something blocking the floor, and he fell, his knees slamming into the ground again with enough force to rattle his teeth. “Shit,” he heard Dean swear. Impala let out a yowl, but she didn’t try to escape, just dug her claws harder into him. Panting, Sam shifted his grip on her and reached out, feeling for purchase to push himself back up.

His hand collided with something solid. It felt like fabric, he thought, wadded up over something large. Something still warm. His heart clenched in his chest. But then Dean was there, his hands on Sam’s shoulders, pulling him back to his feet and then guiding him to the left, around and past it.

“What was that?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Bela,” Dean said shortly.

“ _The ship will self-destruct in T-minus one minute_.”

“Shit!” Dean swore again, and he pushed Sam in the center of the back, hard. Sam lurched over a slightly raised bar — the entrance hatch, he thought dimly — and into the shuttle. Behind him, he heard Dean jamming his hand against the closing mechanism. It whirred into life, and Dean shoved past him, racing for the controls, Sam knew. Sam’s back hit the wall, and he let himself slide down it, still holding Impala close. They had made it.

“We’re going to be okay,” Sam whispered to the cat, pressing his cheek into her soft fur. He knew it was a lie. But maybe, if they were lucky, it would be the truth too.

*****

All the time Dean had been in space, he’d had some close calls. But none as close as this one. “One minute to spare,” he gasped, and lunged for the shuttle’s controls. He hit the engine start-up, ignored the safety protocols, and punched it hard. The shuttle rattled under them, tearing free of bearings and support struts. They were in space proper within the span of a few short breaths, supplies floating free as they broke through the hold of the _Bellerophon_ ’s artificial gravity.

He could hear Sam whispering to the cat, knew that both Sam and Imp weren’t fond of weightlessness. But Dean needed all of the power tied up in the engines. He blasted them away from the _Bellerophon_ , the shuttle shaking from the stress, shoved the throttle forward so far that he thought the control would snap off in his hand.

They all felt it, when the shock wave ripped through them. There was no sound in space, but it rumbled like thunder when it hit the shuttle. Dean clenched his teeth against it, wedged one leg against the control panel in an attempt to keep himself in his seat.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he moved again. He tried to pry his left hand from the throttle, but he couldn’t make it move. He had to reach over with his right, peel his fingers off one by one. Pieces of his flesh stayed behind on the control, but he didn’t feel it at all. The acid blood, he realized, when he’d flushed out what remained of Sam’s eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was still eating at him, less potent than the stuff that had torn through three decks, or if everything that had happened since was making it worse.

Either way, he had to check on Sammy.

“Hang on,” Dean called out over his shoulder. “I’m turning on the gravity. You ready?”

“Ready,” Sam called back. The supplies fell around them like rain, and Dean could hear Sam grunt in pain. Imp let out another cry, and when Dean turned to look, he saw the shadow of her bolt back to the closet where the pressure suits were hanging.

Sam was in the captain's seat at the back of the shuttle, wedged in place like Dean had been. The bandage across his face had soaked through with blood on one side, but only a little. “I gotta look,” he told Sam. He got to his feet and crossed the room, laid his good hand on the side of Sam’s pale cheek. He peeled up the edge of the wrap, peered under it to inspect the damage, and was brought up short by a single, bloodshot eye. Sam’s left, the one that had been swollen from Cas’s attack. That must have saved it, he thought, dazed.

“Hey,” Sam said, and reached out to touch Dean’s face. “I see you.”

Dean grabbed his brother in a tight hug. They clung to each other for a good long time, longer than they’d held each other in years, since before Sam ran off to school. “We’re okay,” Dean murmured, and laid a kiss on Sam’s forehead. He pulled back, enough to look Sam in the eye again. “We’re going to be okay,” he repeated.

“Your hand,” Sam whispered.

“I know. It’s not that bad,” he lied. He tried to make a fist with it, as some sort of proof, but nothing happened.

“Should wrap it up,” Sam said, reaching for it. “Is there more gauze?”

Dean shrugged. “Somewhere.” He pulled his hand from Sam’s grip, gently, and then searched through the boxes scattered across the floor. He found the first-aid supplies in the third box he opened, pulled out burn gel and a wrap, then scooted back to Sam’s side. He couldn’t do it himself, not when he couldn’t make it move. So he presented the supplies to Sam, tugged the bandage away from his good eye, and laid his mangled hand in Sam’s lap.

Sam was careful, more careful than Dean would have been. He coated Dean’s fingers and palm liberally with the burn gel, light and quick, like he was trying to minimize the pain. The nerves were fried, Dean knew, but he didn’t have the heart to tell his brother that. Sam wrapped the gauze in layers, first around each finger, then around all of them together. He covered Dean’s thumb completely, and wrapped the bandage partway up his arm as well before tying it off.

“Thanks,” Dean told him.

They got ready for cryo-sleep, helped each other strip down to underwear. Sam got the pods ready, and Dean went back into the closet to fish Imp out. She didn’t struggle when he picked her up, and for a moment Dean held her close. She was the only one of them who had come through the mission in one piece. She could sleep in the pod with Sam, keep him company through the long night, he decided.

When he came out of the closet, though, Sam was facing toward the front of the shuttle, away from the pods. His back was straight, shoulders high.

Dean went into full alert. “Sammy?” he breathed.

Sam just pointed. After a moment of staring, Dean saw what Sam had seen. Wedged under the secondary control panel, to the left, where Gordon would have sat if he had still been among the living, was a dark shape.

The alien.

It was on the shuttle with them.

*****

The xenomorph wasn’t moving. Sam couldn't see it very well, not through the haze that overlaid the vision in his remaining eye, but there was no mistaking the silhouette of that head. He should have known, he thought, staring at it, his eye smarting. They’d already beaten the odds once, the two of them. He should have known it would be too much to beat them again.

Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of one of the pods opening. He sucked in a breath, but the xenomorph still didn’t move, other than to tuck its head slightly further under the control panel. A dozen possible explanations chased their way through Sam’s brain: it was resting, maybe, or digesting, or hurting after the blow Sam had dealt it. He didn’t really believe the last one, though.

He heard a soft squeak of protest — Impala — and then the cover to the pod hissing back down into place. So that was why Dean had opened the pod, to get her out of the way. Sam prayed it would be enough.

They had to do something. Heart in his throat, Sam forced himself to take a step back. The closet where Impala had disappeared had four pressure suits in it, part of the standard equipment for escape shuttles. If they could get into two of the suits and then open the hatch—

His eye was stinging badly now, but he kept it on the xenomorph, watching its form pulsing slightly as it breathed or digested or whatever the hell it was doing under there. But it still didn’t move, and so Sam took another step back, reaching behind him with searching hands for Dean. 

Dean’s good hand grasped his. Sam turned his head to the side, not taking his gaze away from the xenomorph, and mouthed the word ‘closet’. Dean was on his blind side, so he couldn’t see it if Dean nodded, but Dean squeezed his hand twice and then tugged. Sam let Dean lead him the few steps to the closet, watching the xenomorph all the way. 

Only after the door to the closet had hissed shut did he let himself try to close his eye. His eyelid was nearly gone, eaten away, and he could only get it to close about halfway. His eye was burning, watering at only one of the corners, but there was no time to think about it. Instead he turned, movements deliberate, and lifted one of the pressure suits. Next to him, Dean did the same, and they both began to struggle into them, moving slowly and deliberately, trying not to make a sound. 

Sam had finished pulling the suit on, fastening everything on by feel, when he realized that Dean was having trouble. His brother’s bandaged hand wouldn’t move, and though he was trying frantically to seal the suit with only one hand, he wasn’t managing it. Sam reached out, blinking ineffectually through the haze, and did it for him. Then he pulled down a helmet and snapped it into place over his brother’s head before putting his own on.

They looked at each other for a second, Dean’s eyes determined behind the thick plastic. Then, as one, they turned back to the closet door. It slid open, revealing that the xenomorph had changed positions slightly; one of its tentacles was now curled around the end of its head with the mouth. But it hadn’t left the control panel or lifted its head. 

_Please let this work._

Dean lifted one arm, pointed at Sam and then jerked his hand over at the small rack of weapons the shuttle was outfitted with. He then silently tapped himself on the chest and gestured to the primary control panel, the navigator’s, which was barely over a meter away from the one the xenomorph was curled under. Sam shook his head and pointed to himself, but Dean shook his harder and pointed at the weapons again, then held up his useless hand.

Sam hesitated, then nodded. Dean reached out and they gripped hands. It was time.

None of the weapons was a good choice, mostly lasers, with a harpoon gun in the mix. After some hesitation, Sam picked up the harpoon gun. It might cut the xenomorph open, but if the plan worked and Dean opened the hatch in time, the blood would blow out with the xenomorph before it could do any damage. Also, a projectile weapon stood a better chance of knocking it out of the hatch, if it came to that. They would just have to do it right the first time.

Dean was strapped into the navigator’s seat already when Sam edged back out, harpoon clutched in one hand. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears at the sight of Dean so close to the xenomorph, but he made himself walk silently to the engineer's seat, the one closest to the hatch, and strapped himself in. Dean watched him, his shoulders shaking slightly. Sam nodded to him as soon as he was secured and readied the gun. He could barely see through the tears and the pain now, but he could see well enough to shoot the damn thing. He hoped.

Dean turned back to the panel and tapped it awkwardly, trying to maneuver his gloved hand over the controls. The light flashed red, and a computerized voice intoned, “ _Emergency hatch opening sequence initiated_.”

The xenomorph let out a sibilant hiss, uncoiling itself from under the panel so fast that Sam couldn’t actually follow its movements. It was facing him, though, and not Dean, and so it was Sam it lunged at, its clawed hands extended, its spiked tentacles cutting through the air around it. Sam shouted and fired just as the hatch split open behind it.

A fierce wind sprang up, ripping the xenomorph off its feet just as the harpoon punched through its midsection. The line tethering it snapped taut, and Sam let go of the harpoon gun just as the xenomorph blew out the hatch toward the darkness of space beyond. Sam let out his breath and slumped back, hardly daring to believe it.

The xenomorph grabbed the edges of the open hatch.

Dean slammed his good hand against the panel, and the hatch doors hissed shut on the xenomorph before it could make it inside again. But the harpoon gun was still inside, with the line caught in the seal between the doors. Sam jabbed at the release mechanism on his seat and then practically fell across the shuttle, sliding only halfway onto the chair at the secondary control panel. He could just make out one of the xenomorph’s tentacles, whipping across the shuttle's viewscreen, scrabbling for purchase. It was still alive. The fucking thing was still alive.

But the rest of it was next to one of the shuttle’s engines, he realized. He engaged the control panel, quickly typing in the command to send full power to the engines, and hit engage. Even if this didn’t kill it either, it would be enough to melt the cable from the harpoon gun, and they would finally, finally be free. 

“The throttle!” he yelled at Dean, even though Dean couldn’t hear him, not without their comms engaged.

But Dean understood anyway, because he grabbed the throttle with his good hand and pushed it all the way forward. A blast of energy rocketed from the engine and across the viewscreen. The shuttle leapt forward, then banked sharply, spinning back to face where it had just been. 

The xenomorph drifted there, finally still, parts of outer shell burned away. Droplets of its blood floated around it, lit up in the shuttle’s lights, gleaming yellow against the black of space.

It was over.

Sam checked to make sure the shuttle was pressurized again and then pulled his helmet off, panting. “Dean?” he croaked.

Dean stumbled over to him and fell to his knees next to the chair. His helmet was already off, and Sam leaned forward, wrapping both arms around him, letting the tears blur his vision entirely. Dean leaned his cheek against Sam’s hair and hugged him back. Neither of them moved for a long time.

“Is this what it was like when Mom died?” Sam mumbled to him. “Is this what killed her, Dean? Is that why Dad wanted it so badly?”

“No,” Dean whispered back. “No, Sammy, whatever this son of a bitch is, it’s not what killed Mom. ‘Yellow eyes’, remember. Mom said that on the black box recording. This fucker didn’t even have eyes. It’s not what did it.”

Sam buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. “So there’s still something else out there. Dad’s not going to stop.”

“No,” Dean agreed, voice thick. He pulled back then, brushed Sam’s hair away from the ruined socket of his right eye, pressed a kiss above his brow. “But at least we’re still around.”

There was nothing else to do after that but get ready for cryo-sleep. Their food and oxygen supplies were too low for them to stay awake for much more than twenty-four hours, and they might need all of it later, Sam knew. Dean rebandaged Sam’s face first, washing his remaining eye out with a saline solution and then covering the whole area. They undressed again in silence, Sam doing it all by feel, and opened two of the pods. For the first time since he was a child, Sam wanted to get into the same pod with Dean, wanted to keep his brother close. But the pods weren’t big enough for the both of them. They would have to sleep alone.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said softly, once he was lying down in his pod.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean replied. There was a pause, and then something was on his chest, something warm and purring. “Here,” Dean said. “Take her in with you.”

Impala butted the top of her head against Sam’s cheek, purring loudly. Sam stroked her fur. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, Sammy.” He touched Sam’s cheek. “Just one more thing to do.”

As Sam listened, with Impala curled up against his chest, Dean made his final report.

“Final report for commercial starship _Bellerophon_. Third officer reporting. Excepting Science Intern Samuel Winchester, the other members of the crew, Gordon Walker, Bela Talbot, Pamela Barnes, Michael Kubrick, Castiel, and Captain Rufus Turner, are dead. Cargo and ship destroyed. We should reach the frontier in six weeks. With a little luck the network will pick us up. This is Dean Winchester with Sam Winchester, last survivors of the _Bellerophon_ , signing off.” 

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

“Talk to me, Jo,” Ellen says, sitting back in her chair and sipping from a fresh cup of coffee. This one she’s going to enjoy, protocols and potential aliens be damned. “How is it going?”

“ _I’m drawing the ship in now_ ,” Jo replies from the loading bay. “ _Should I initiate standard quarantine procedures? One of the things aboard isn’t human, right?_ ”

“Affirmative,” Ellen replies. “Make sure you suit up before—”

“Wait!” Ash interrupts. “Ellen, tell Jo to hang on. Something’s wrong with the readings.”

Ellen considers reminding him not to call her Ellen when they’re on a mission, but decides to drop it as a lost cause. “Wait a minute, Jo. What is it, Ash?”

“The readings I got,” Ash says, his fingers flying over the panel. “There are three lifeforms aboard. The computer was reading two of them as one.”

“So, two unknown lifeforms?” Ellen asks. This keeps getting better and better, she thinks.

Ash shakes his head, his perpetually unkempt hair straggling back and forth over his shoulders. “Nope. Two human, one feline. The cat’s in the pod with one of them, that’s what messed up the sensors. So no need for quarantine.”

Ellen’s about to relay that to Jo when her comm crackles to life again. “ _Mom_?” Jo’s voice says, sounding breathless. “ _Sorry, Captain — I’ve got the vessel in the loading dock, and you’re not going to believe this. It’s an escape shuttle from the_ Bellerophon. _Listen to this recording._ ”

“ _Bellerophon_?” Ash repeats, eyes wide. “Whoa. Didn’t that disappear years ago?”

Ellen sits up ramrod straight, the coffee in her hand forgotten as a ragged voice starts speaking in her ear. The _Bellerophon_. The lost mining ship. The missing Winchester boys. They’ve found them.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/94878.html)   
>  [ART POST](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/94878.html)


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